my therapists keep saying i need to journal more. but i feel like something terrible happens between my brain and the air that colors my thoughts and stories. makes them more clean, idk, inauthentic?

thinking a lot about my self-worth and how much i seek validation in my partners. Like if I have the best partner, a partner that has qualities I admire, I will also have those qualities. that sucks that im like that. thinking a lot about my reserves. the reserves i made when i was a child, to survive. and how that is valid. how i am small but strong.

i feel a constant panic. constant. panic. I think it is new orleans but what if it isn’t? it’s so hard to not romanticize new orleans. it’s not a place, it’s so alive. it’s so dark and fraught with trauma. wet heat. designed to kill you. we were never meant to sit here. this wasn’t even land.



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