I think that it’s good to be tired and to not have to think about it all. Tired muscles and drooping eyelids and inferiority complexes and constantly questioning whether I’m legitimately dumb fills in the empty spaces.

But also there are no empty spaces and I know that now. I’m just fine and there is everything and ¬†there is nothing and it’s really fulfilling ¬†and meaningful to not always be looking for the next thing, I can just live like this. It’s not a crappy life compared to anything else if I am okay and I am happy and I am healthy.

And what happens to a life when it is lived for yourself? What happens to a life when you stop caring about what other people think of you? I think good things. I think this is what I’m going to try to do. And of course living for now, living for this day, that’s so important.


My fever broke at midnight, but still, I can barely move. My whole body is tinged a strange crimson colour and old silver stretch marks and scars look brand new. I had never felt that kind of pain before and it scares me that my body looks alien, and my feet feel funny to walk on, and that all I can stomach is white toast with butter. I feel juvenile, like everything I do, I am doing for the first time. When I walk I don’t know if I’m going to fall and when I eat it tastes so good and lumpy. When my phone buzzes I feel like I don’t know what it means, like I don’t know what to do, like I want distance from it.

These are good feelings, born from the worst.