New year…

…new fuckery.

Last year summed up was… I don’t even know. It was Reedus and Hiddleston, it was mental illness highs and lows, medication that worked and didn’t work, employment and unemployment.

It was a year of complete What The Everloving Christ on a Pan of Motherfucking Jam.

I’ve made no resolutions, because I firmly believe that new year’s resolutions are the biggest form of self-deprecation ever and I will elaborate on that per request.

All I’m going to promise myself is, that from now on, I will try to love me more. I tend to be too hard on myself in so many regards it’s not even funny anymore. I’ve found a way to ease the pain of the massive craving for… well, to simply put it: life, that overcomes my mind at times. It’s not a good way and it’s not a way I’d recommend to anyone, but I’ve found a way and it works for the moment. I shall therefore implement it and refuse to feel bad about it, because if anything, life up until this point has taught me that one should never apologize for the things that make one survive. Survive.

And I will try to remember that we all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one.

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