Going through a lot of past stuff the last few days -- old journals/photos/sketchbooks/the like. It's weird to see how much one can change in just a few years, and equally strange to think about where I could be a few years from now given the scale of those past changes.
Been pretty down today, those snippy little critics in my head throwing all the rocks they can while I try to go about things. Have I really made it very far? Even in my old journals, letters, I always...seemed to feel I was making some sort of progress towards a peaceful mental summit -- but where I'm at right now it all feels very Sisyphean. Why climb if you're just going to be climbing forever? Why keep trying to love if it's just going to slip through your fingers every time you think you've got something worth hanging on to? (Especially when that's hard enough to find as it is)
*sigh* ok, enough mopery. Those little assholes telling me no one will ever really love me can shove it for awhile while I do some chores. Sorry for the piles of stupid angst, friends.
