For once I really suppose that I can say that in this period of time, currently, I am living more within the fear for my future than the melancholy of my past. It is no longer so much who I have been that is discomforting, but rather (and increasingly) how that has shaped and formed me to be today.
I guess feeling the jarring amplification of all the small things overtime has gotten me reasonably concerned with stirring the surrounding waters, whatsoever. My parents assure me that my profound and complex self loathing, and relentless worthlessness is age appropriate. I really suppose they do not know that I am not my age, now, for time stopped within those moments of stark shame, and ceased to ever start back up again.
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