I just can’t seem to get my shit together.
For the last few weeks, I had been feeling revived and excited about life and living. It was a nice (albeit brief… so brief) reprieve.
Well, unfortunately for all of us, I’ve returned to my usual bullshit. The cause? My best guess is a delicious amalgamation of imposter syndrome, the utter lack of sunlight on the East Coast, and this persistent voice in the back of my head that’s all, “you’ll never amount to nothing,” or whatever. Plus a ton of other stuff I don’t even feel like thinking about.
I’ve said before that I’ve been in real need of a slightly unhealthy coping mechanism. But since I lack imagination I guess, I’ve just settled on returning to my old ways: retreating back into myself and dabbling in dissociation. No actually: there has been a new coping mechanism afoot.
I’ve been trying delusion on for size.
Because like, do you ever feel like being delusional is the only way to make it through life? Lately, I’ve been thinking about how being positive and hopeful is—at least for me, a perpetual pessimist—practicing delusion. Thinking everything will work out in the end? Somewhat delusional! Hoping for the best? A delusion!
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