2018 was shit.

To coin a phrase, thank u next.

The best thing I can say about last year is that I survived it. Somehow I managed to pull a nice little writing habit out of it, and I’m (gasp) working on a novel. My family is still with me, still alive, and still loves me, so that’s a thing. Certain events in the last year have forced me back into active work against depression, anxiety, and OCPD, but I’m learning to catch it before the slide takes me too far down.

Recent work with my therapist has revealed that I still fucking hate myself, though. I don’t think I’m good enough, successful enough, thin enough, enough enough. My goal for the year is to learn to like myself. It’s harder than it sounds, especially when self-care triggers the gibbering mouther in my brain to bitch and whine and cry and inundate me with guilt.

It might be that dusting off this blog and dumping some of the shit here, out of site, is beneficial. Going to give it a try. We will see.

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