Has it been so long? How do I always forget the magic of this modern format, the ability to send my soul through sparks and wires (are there even sparks involved? I know nothing of this age) for your perusal.

I felt some weeks ago that something in me was dying. This was a very palpable feeling, an intense feeling of something being torn from me as it rotted, pulled down by gravity. The self-destructive part of me is dead. I have my little bad habits, an occasional whole bag of chips after a hard day, the choice of staying up later than I can afford, spending more than I can afford, but these are minute as compared to what they were. Now these are blips amid a steady chart of normalcy. I have become a recognizable member of society, with my rent and my job and magazines in my mailbox.

Something in me is starting to rumble again. I no longer fear these rumbles as madness, but I still fear them somewhat. I am not fluent in my emotions, but I speak them a little better now, and can understand what they mean when they scream. Not perfectly, but I am not completely afraid. I do not panic and mark myself crazy when I feel something intense. I try to listen. Sometimes I try to ignore it for a long time and then I listen, but still, I do not panic.

There are many large spiders in my apartment. I wonder if I have brought them here. I must learn to displace them, even destroy them, and I greatly dislike these tasks. Perhaps they represent what I must get rid of in myself, whether I like it or not, our dank little demons must be dealt with.

Why am I hiding? Everything about me, I live in a profound privacy.

I bought almond-cashew butter instead of cashew butter. How do I continue to be so foolish? The material world is as confusing as the inner depths, it seems. Feelings, labels, I understand nothing in entirety. Just pieces. I want a whole.

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
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