Hope echoes into the night.

To listen to my own thoughts is scary. I’m terrified of everything. To listen to my reasoning is to hear the words “judgement” and “shame” and “failure”, things I apply to myself far too often. The Timmy Manifesto III was a great piece of writing, but it was far too overreaching, far too grand to be something I could ever live up to in a short period of time.

Talking to me, trying to reason with me, is an exercise of talking to defense mechanisms. I’m so sorry I’m difficult sometimes. Some people just don’t have the patience, content to overstate the obvious “It’s in your hands if you want to get off your ass and do something about it” and walk away, like they’ve made a difference.

The first truth of me is that I just want to be loved. The second is that I’m scared. The things most people are scared of don’t really bother me. (Generalizing.) The normal day-to-day things like brushing your teeth or calling a friend or going to see a movie, these are the things that terrify and cripple me.

My life has become an abstraction. The walls have come down, but I’m terrified to move. Terrified of budge, to make a wrong move, to screw up again.

Well. We’ll see about that.

Sometimes I’m so lost in the facts that I forget that I can change them. What is it I’ve been saying lately? “Live now how you want to live for the rest of your life.” It’s why I’m getting up at 6 AM and downing a liter of water. It’s a start. It’s something. Gotta take care of me. I matter, me first, selfishness all the way. I’ve spent too much of my life putting others first. Fuck everyone.

Take care of the insides, and the exterior will follow. Have interior locus of control, and I will feel exterior locus of control. Eat moderately. Exercise. Shave, goddamnit. I’m going to shave tomorrow. Look good, feel good. Take care of these things, and the rest will domino (or even cascade) through the day.

It’s harder to make excuses when you’re already feeling good about yourself.

Ups and downs.

Typically questions like, “What should I do?” do not come when initially asked. How can they? Put someone in a white silent room and ask them to think of something. There’s no basis, no context. The answers come elsewhere, somewhere unrelated. What I should do tomorrow is no different than what I should do with the rest of my life, which is no different than realizing how the hell I ended up this way.

The end is the beginning.

I will have my day. Tomorrow will be a good day. I’m bent on it. Good night.