April 6, 2024

I have peaches in the fridge and I’m gonna eat them now. 🍑

I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. People feel with their hearts, Ellen, and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him.

—Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

too early to sleep but i have nothing left to do.

8 Things You Unconsciously Do When Depressed 

I broke my own heart that day.

He was kind. Nice. And I’m sure he’s a great friend. I saw him for the first time today, and I never thought it would be the last time I’d ever see him.

There was something about the way he smiled, the way his voice carried warmth like a quiet melody. It wasn’t a grand moment—no fireworks or fated encounters—just a fleeting interaction that somehow left its mark on me. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

I knew from the beginning that I couldn’t have him, that we were just two strangers passing each other on the street of life. But the heart has a strange way of getting attached to possibilities that never were. It was my own mind weaving stories where none existed, my own emotions building a bridge to nowhere.

And that’s where the heartbreak came. Not from anything he did or said, but from my own actions, my silent hopes. In the end, it was him who chose to walk away, and I, knowing there was no path forward.

But it still stung, that quiet realization: I had broken my own heart, in a moment that no one else would ever know existed.

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.

August 1, 2021

Wheat cranberry loaf, and cheese for breakfast. :) Plus coffee. What a morning!

Don't know if I should fight or fly.

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.

I’m not in a hurry but it’s just so fucked up lol