I’ve been thinking a lot about how it seems like there’s two versions of me. There’s the real me, which has hidden out of fear and the animal desire to survive since I was small, and then there’s the face I have worn to get by. It’s like a totally separate character who just so happens to share the same fears, some of the same desires, and the same body as I. I have watched this mask attempt to live my life for me, pathetically and miserably, unable to cope with change bc it wasn’t designed to live forever. I’ve had this lingering fear since I was little that I would grow up to be exactly who I am today, like a self fulfilling prophecy I was read as a toddler. I think maybe I’ve lived this life before. Maybe last time I did just as bad, or even worse, at self discovery and healing. I know I failed this time, too. I think I’ll have to die for another shot at trooning before puberty. That, I think, is the only thing that could have prevented the false me from taking control, and trying to kill the real me. Why shouldn’t I just die now? Why wait? Either I can try again, or I only get one life. I won’t have to suffer more either way.