Last night was the Full Moon in Pisces, which could explain why I felt anything but solid throughout the day. I didn't know how to hold myself, but I knew I needed space. So, I took it. I want to be better at not jumping at or agreeing to the events I go to on account of not wanting to feel lonely. I don't like how much energy I have to spend putting on a face for anyone and nearly everyone. It's no one's problem but my own, but it's also not a problem? It is what it is.

After glazing through the day, which I can no longer remember, nightfall came, and I couldn't see the moon in her fullness. My body ached with exhaustion, and my mind couldn't accept the reason why. I hate my depressive episodes. I disgust myself during these bouts because, deep down, I'm not okay. I allow myself to morph into the person my mom never became (her depression and anxiety manifested differently). It terrifies me because her version of mental illness is what I am comfortable with. It's what I know on a more intimate level than learning about it in school.

Sometimes, I hate what I write. Right now is one of those times. But I write anyway.

I didn't wake up the same way I did yesterday. Even though I didn't do any work under the Full Moon (that morning, I told myself I would at least bathe under it but couldn't accomplish that), I managed to clean my bong. I laid in bed with it on my nightstand, waiting for me in the morning. When I woke up a few times during the night, first around 2 AM, then 3:30 AM, and finally, when my alarm went off at 5:30 AM, I didn't feel that wall of bricks in my throat. I got out of bed and went straight to my closet to pick out my clothes for the day before heading to the bathroom to begin letting the water warm up to shower. It felt good to cleanse myself of the energy I felt lingering from this weekend into yesterday. I don't think I scrubbed my skin that hard in a long time. I wanted to feel like the newest version of myself.

I only want to want to belong to me. It will happen in time.