365 v.34 (136-150)
It’s a weird time for all of us, isn’t it?
When I started this 365, for my 34th year, I had no idea how deeply I would be peering into myself. I had no idea how cyclical things would feel and be.
136/365
Something about short hair dancing above my shoulders makes me feel young again, like I’m one kiss of whiskey away from a long night and loud music. I feel a little elfish, even. Maybe it’s the yellow; I used to have red, orange, and yellow in my hair. I was a constant burning ember of a person. Greetings to parts of my past, from a more loved existence and body. I’m glad you made it with me.
137/365
Boosted, baby.
138/365
I’m in the dark and I’m coming home to myself.
139/365
I wanna be your sunshine. The rise and fall you stay awake for.
140/365
All wrapped up in cellophane. I’ll be sharing a lot of this series in the coming weeks. Oddly enough, my biggest inspiration for these was beginning to really dive into Shadow Self in therapy. Into the foggy labyrinth we go, on and on and winding. The voyage into these depths of myself brought so much spark to me, reigniting memories and pinings. All mirrors of my own yearning for my true self.
141/365
Here’s a little vulnerable factoid about me. I’m 34 years old and still struggling with how to deal with setbacks and disappointments in a self-kind, level manner. I know this strange and stagnant era of life has given me the privilege to really sit with it (on my own and in therapy) but I’ve also felt so bizarrely stripped down to my core throughout. Regressed, exposed, fearful at times. I had to send my PC to the PC hospital. I love this damn thing— another loaded thing altogether, of course. But to say I was panicked and worried would be an understatement. To say I was wrongfully blaming myself would be putting it lightly; another battle I’ve had to revisit. The comfort and familiarity I have with talking down to myself or blaming myself (if I say it first no one else can hurt me) is honestly really sad. I do have to tango with my attachments to material things, and often, because of scarcity in my earlier life. Shit happens and it doesn’t have to turn into self-blame. I can also just… feel bad, too, until I don’t. Forever grateful to have a partner who gives me the space to when I express that. I am not too much. I just am. I will be.
142/365
Mid-November reflection.
143/365
Long drives and exploring more on my own. I found myself at an antique store, buying dusty old smut.
144/365
We are all growing back into ourselves, aren’t we.
145/365
I didn’t need all of the answers. I didn’t even need some of them.
146/365
No secrets here. Just trust.
147/365
Apophenia. Is it really?
148/365
I knew someone whose father yelled so loudly at their mother I often had to leave the room or even step outside for air. The knot of static in my chest buzzing and crackling. The discomfort of understanding more now.
149/365
The missing step, the hiding fox.
150/365
“Was it a Wednesday? I was hidden behind a curtain of beads.”