Dear you,
I live perpetually in the past, clinging onto past memories, experiences in reminiscence. I recollect vestiges of us, furtive glances and surreptitious movements, a love so secretive of its kind. I laugh in remembrance of the way we lay on the grass and drowned into the infinite of…
I can’t cut.
Not that I planned on it, but I mean, triggers won’t disappear. I’m less triggered when I’m not home, but still. I have a roommate now, and community bathrooms aren’t the greatest hiding places. It’ll be inconvenient, which is a good thing. I’m hoping that if I feel triggered a lot I can just go to therapy on campus. That’s one thing I’ve promised myself I’ll do: the moment I start feeling stress and craving pain, I start therapy.
Wish me luck!
XOXO
same but with my probably ed and depression. woot.
