Woke Up With A Blurry Right Eye

hahahahahaha!

Healing for a Better Future: Why My Next Relationship Deserves a Fresh Start

Hey everyone,

I’ve been thinking a lot about relationships lately and how our past can impact our future. I’ve come to realize that my next relationship shouldn’t be weighed down by what happened in my past. Instead, I need to heal and grow so that I can give my future partner the best version of myself.

We all have experiences that shape who we are. Some of these experiences are amazing, while others might be painful. It’s easy to let the negative ones cloud our judgment and affect how we treat new people in our lives. But that's not fair to them or to us. Each new person deserves a chance to be seen for who they really are, not through the lens of our past hurts.

Healing is super important. It means recognizing the pain, understanding how it affects us, and working to move past it. Healing doesn’t mean forgetting what happened. It means learning from it and letting go of the negativity. By doing this, we can take the lessons we’ve learned and use them to become better people.

Part of healing is about growing as a person. It’s about seeing where we can improve, like being better at communicating, setting healthy boundaries, or just being more self-aware. By focusing on our growth, we make sure that we bring the best version of ourselves into our next relationship.

When we commit to healing and personal growth, we give our future partners the chance to be seen and loved for who they truly are, without the shadows of our past experiences. This fresh start is not only good for the new relationship but also freeing for us. It lets us experience love and connection in a more genuine and fulfilling way.

As I work on healing and growing, I feel hopeful for the future. By dealing with my past and focusing on myself, I believe I can create a healthier and more loving environment for my next relationship. It’s not about being perfect but about making progress, and each step I take brings me closer to being the person I want to be for my future partner.

In the end, our pasts might shape us, but they don’t have to define our future relationships. By committing to healing and personal growth, we can make sure our next relationship starts with mutual respect, understanding, and genuine love. Here’s to new beginnings and a brighter tomorrow. 🫶

Hope you all have a great day!

Every night you dream that you talk to a genie, when you wake up you can't remember what you wished for. One morning you wake up with a giant crab pincer replacing your right arm. What do you do?

Dreams are strange things. They take us to places beyond our imagination, and sometimes, they’re so vivid that we wake up questioning what’s real. For weeks now, I’ve been having a recurring dream where I talk to a genie every night. The weird part? I could never remember what I wished for when I woke up. It was like my subconscious was playing hide-and-seek with the details, leaving me with a hazy memory of the conversation but no clue what I’d actually asked for.

But then came that morning. The one where I opened my eyes, stretched out my right arm, and… it wasn’t there. Instead of my usual hand and arm, a massive crab pincer had taken its place. I froze, staring at the monstrous claw attached to my shoulder, a mix of horror and disbelief washing over me. This couldn’t be real, could it? I had to be dreaming still, right?

I did what any rational person would do: I pinched myself with the claw. Let me tell you, crab pincers are no joke. The pain was very real, and with that, the reality of the situation sunk in. Somehow, someway, my dream wish had manifested into this bizarre and terrifying reality.

After the initial shock, the questions flooded in. How could this have happened? Why a crab pincer, of all things? I tried to think back to the previous night’s dream, but as always, the memory was foggy. Maybe I’d wished for something vague, like “strength” or “protection,” and the genie had interpreted that in the weirdest possible way. Or perhaps I’d made some offhand joke about having a tough exterior. Whatever the reason, here I was, the unfortunate owner of a giant crustacean claw.

So, what do you do when you wake up with a crab pincer for an arm? First, I panicked. Then, I did what I always do when life throws something inexplicable at me: I adapted.

I spent the next few days learning to navigate life with my new appendage. Simple tasks like opening doors, brushing my teeth, or even typing became Herculean challenges. But with practice, I started to get the hang of it. I learned to use the pincer delicately, avoiding crushing everything I touched. I even found it had some unexpected perks—like cracking open coconuts or, if I’m being honest, scaring off unwanted attention.

But beyond the practicalities, this experience forced me to think deeply about identity and change. How much of who we are is tied to our physical form? How do we adapt when something so fundamental about ourselves is altered overnight? The crab pincer became a symbol of resilience, a reminder that even in the face of the absurd, we have the power to adapt, to find humor, and to continue moving forward.

In the end, I’ve come to embrace my new reality, as strange as it is. I still don’t know what I wished for that led to this, and maybe I never will. But maybe that’s the point. Life is unpredictable, and sometimes, the wishes we make in the depths of our dreams lead to outcomes we never could have imagined. The important thing is how we respond to those outcomes—how we choose to grow, change, and find strength, even when life hands us something as bizarre as a crab pincer for an arm.

And who knows, maybe tonight I’ll dream of that genie again and finally get some answers. Until then, I’ll keep pinching myself—both literally and figuratively—just to remind myself that this wild journey is, indeed, real.

I was already in the process of writing a love story but I stopped. I do not have the drive. Maybe I'll just wait for ideas.

I choked on my pill. 😂 Jesus.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m living a life I don’t fully deserve. No matter how many achievements I rack up, or how many times people praise my work, there’s this persistent voice in my head whispering that it’s all a fluke. That I don’t belong here. That I’m fooling everyone.

Imposter syndrome is like an unwelcome guest that shows up in the quiet moments, casting doubt on everything I’ve accomplished. It tells me that my success is an accident, that eventually, someone is going to figure out I’m not as capable as I seem. I look at others who seem to move through life with ease, confident and self-assured, and wonder how they do it—how they walk around without the constant fear of being “found out.”

For me, every new challenge feels like a test I might not pass. Even when I’ve prepared, even when I know my stuff, there’s that nagging feeling that somehow, I’m not good enough. The worst part is how easy it is to downplay my own efforts. I’ll tell myself, “It wasn’t that hard,” or, “Anyone could’ve done that,” as if minimizing my work will shield me from the possibility of failure.

But that doesn’t make the fear go away. It just hides it beneath layers of self-doubt. Instead of celebrating my victories, I question them. Instead of owning my success, I attribute it to luck or timing, convinced that at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

The thing is, I know I’m not alone in this feeling. So many of us walk around with this invisible weight, afraid that one wrong step will expose us. But I also know that those feelings aren’t truth—they’re just fear disguised as fact. And though I struggle with it, I’m learning that I don’t have to listen to that voice. I can acknowledge it without letting it dictate how I live.

Because the truth is, I’ve worked hard for what I’ve achieved. I’ve earned my place, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. And just because I grapple with feelings of inadequacy doesn’t mean I am inadequate.

It’s a journey, learning to silence the imposter in my head, but I’m on the path. Every day, I remind myself that I’m not just faking it—I’m showing up, doing the work, and becoming the person I’m meant to be.

It was a Sunday afternoon, and I sat at the dinner table with my parents. I had been waiting for this moment—the moment to talk about him. I smiled as I spoke, telling them what a great guy he was. He was kind, thoughtful, hardworking, and, I believed, someone who genuinely cared for me. I was convincing them—convincing myself, really—that I had found someone good.

Little did I know, while I was telling my parents how lucky I was, my phone was buzzing with messages I hadn’t seen yet. Messages that would unravel everything. He had chosen that very moment, when I was trying to paint him in the best possible light, to break me.

When I finally checked my phone later that night, there it was—a breakup in the coldest, most unexpected way. “I don’t think this is working out,” he wrote. As if my heart wasn’t already racing from the excitement of sharing him with my parents, it shattered all over again reading his words.

How could I have been so wrong about him? One minute, I was talking about how wonderful he was; the next, I was realizing that everything I believed had been a lie. It was like a cruel joke the universe was playing on me—the timing, the irony of it all.

I replayed my earlier conversation with my parents in my head, feeling like a fool. I had spent the better part of the afternoon defending someone who wasn’t even fighting for me. I was pouring out words of love and admiration, while he was silently letting go. And the worst part? I never saw it coming.

It’s strange how blind we can be when we’re in love. We see only what we want to see—the good moments, the gentle words, the potential of what could be. I was so caught up in the idea of him that I missed the reality that he wasn’t as invested as I was.

In that moment, I wasn’t just heartbroken over losing him—I was heartbroken over the version of him I had built up in my mind. The version I wanted so badly to be true, the one I was excited to share with my parents. But he wasn’t that guy. Not even close.

As I sat in my room that night, the pain hit me in waves. The disappointment of not just losing someone I loved but also realizing I had been wrong about him hurt deeply. I felt embarrassed, not only because I had just told my parents how wonderful he was, but because I had believed it myself.

But as the days passed, I realized this heartbreak wasn’t just about him. It was about me, too. About how I had let myself settle for someone who wasn’t deserving of the love I had to offer. How I had been so focused on getting others to see his goodness that I forgot to see if he was good for me.

Looking back now, I realize that heartbreak has a way of teaching us the lessons we don’t want to learn. I learned that sometimes the people we think are good for us are the ones who hurt us the most. I learned that it’s okay to be wrong about someone, but it’s not okay to stop trusting yourself because of it.

He may have broken my heart while I was defending his character, but in the end, I’m the one who gets to decide how to pick up the pieces. And next time, I’ll be more careful about who I choose to give those pieces to.

I'm a night owl. I find that the quiet and calmness of the night allow me to focus and be more productive. There's something magical about the stillness of the night, where the world feels like it's paused, giving me the space to think, reflect, and create without distractions. I love how the night offers a sense of solitude and peace, which is perfect for unwinding or diving into creative projects.

I hope it went well. *fingers crossed*

Dear Diary,

It's hard to put into words the heaviness I've been carrying lately. The constant battle with my old self, always comparing and competing, is utterly exhausting. It's like I'm stuck in this never-ending contest, and it feels like I'm losing at every turn.

In my mind, there's this imaginary competition, a race against the version of me that used to be. It's haunting to witness, as if I'm continually falling short of my own expectations. It's suffocating to grapple with the idea that I'm not measuring up to the person I once was.

And then there are these other competitions I've conjured up in my head, comparing my life to the lives of those around me. It's as if I'm in a race with shadows, competing against illusions of success and happiness. The pressure is overwhelming, and it seems like I'm drowning in an ocean of self-doubt.

Tonight, the weight of it all feels unbearable. I find myself yearning for an escape, a release from this relentless struggle. The idea of ending this suffering crosses my mind like a dark cloud. I envision a peaceful departure, just drifting away to somewhere unknown, free from the weight of these imaginary battles.

In my darkest moments, I even entertain the thought of becoming a ghost, liberated from the constraints of life. The idea of floating somewhere, scaring people as an ethereal presence, almost seems like a twisted form of freedom. It's a morbid fantasy, I know, but in this state of weariness, it's hard to see any other way out.

I write these words not out of a desire for sympathy but as a desperate attempt to release the turmoil within me. Maybe tomorrow will bring a glimmer of hope, a shift in perspective, or the strength to confront these haunting thoughts. For now, I'll close this entry with a heavy heart, hoping for a brighter tomorrow.