2-4-25, Wednesday

And so, it appears this may be coming to an end.

Is it the beginning of a spiritual death, the leap into new forms, or really nothing in particular? Hell if I know.

My duolingo streak ended. That owl had motivated me for 272 days, but using it isn't too helpful anymore. I must rely on myself to practice regularly. I don't even know how to practice anymore.

Im not on devices too much anymore. My family dynamics change strongly. My diary entries are no longer daily. The world shifts around me and lets me figure it out alone. A deer who lost it's mother, stepping out into the grass. The sun shines, but the wind stays cold, my heart beats a heavy rhythm. I'm free, in a way. Grass is handed to me on a platter of soil, yet all of it will come with a cost.

I find myself in uncertainty, but I let go of my anchors. I wish I could make sure I'm not trying to impress you. I wish I could make sure my step comes from my nature, I won't accept myself if I am something other. I feel anxiety consume my head and protect me in a way. If I cannot be my true self before you - if I am unable to flow freely, think truly - I cannot be hurt, I cannot be insulted, because any insult will not be directed to me.

The form of a weasel, small and sly. I look tired, weak, but I can't help but have the intention of getting something. I don't think. I just do, my brain clinging on every instant gratification, every possible source of safety from everyone unwilling. I tell it to let go. It clings harder. I sigh and sit back, hoping this will pass. I do not like weasels, no, not really. 

Strangers feel the right to talk to me in the bathroom. To ask me the details about my life. To confront me angrily through the wall of my room. I just want to know I'm safe. Their ever too familiar voice hurts more than any skinned elbow. Burns my vision faster than the sun.

I'm talking too much. Goodnight?

20:47,