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Writing for me is just abstraction layer jumping, you continuously shape and shift your thouhgts into clear defined perspectives, you throw away the noise and refine the signal and thinking becomes clearer over time. That’s the plan at least. I need some way to create and this is fully under my control and ownership and leveraging my unique lack of real world accomplishments. Gonna lie down for a bit so I can think about what to write next.

I didn’t think of what to write next I actually just closed my eyes until I felt like I really should eat at least one normal human meal a day. Walked and got a nice chicken burger and some caffeine for the morning. The hollow feeling is hard to deal with around this time. I think the body and brain can only deal with being in freeze mode for so long. I’ve got serious concerns about how medication has affected my emotional processing, all of the science would suggest that it should make things better but I’m not sure anymore. Maybe I’ve actually fucked things up myself for the past 12 years. It’s hard to think of this writing ever being worth it. There’s some part of me that’s hopeful I’ll look back on this rambling and smile instead of the usual cringe.

Follow up with the psychiatrist tomorrow will see how it goes. I’m nervous. I don’t want to be shat on. I don’t want any tough love. I’m in a really fragile place but I keep moving forward.