At least I did that

I haven’t journaled in a couple weeks. I’m afraid to do it. I’ve had a good weekend–an extremely good weekend, actually–and there’s an omnipresent dread that ‘journaling’ is couched within. I’ve established that journaling amplifies the feelings. I want to feel good. I think my anxieties about writing will come out if I keep writing.

Is hiding better than leaning into it? I don’t want to let this weekend end on a sour note of anxiety and ambivalence. I want to end it curled up in bed with my snoring fiance. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and go to my day job. It’s going to be a shitty week for the day job. Probable disciplinary shit.

I’ve got to stop. I’ve just got to stop this. At least I tapped out a hundred words. At least I did that.


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