So. Just caught up on @fluxom_alt 's writing of a decker's slippery and questionably enjoyed slip into drone hivemindery. It's a good read.

A fucking amazing one. There's feels I've had seriously and deeply reflected in it.

I wish my work was like that. Or rather, I know some of it is and I wish I could make more of that. I wish I felt confident in myself to pursue writing and not feeling like I'm just poorly following footsteps.

@fluxom_alt things u want to write feel like just revisiting old emotions. Desperately trying to find some way of sharing the rush of excitement I feel when a friend brushes so tenderly along my nerves I can't do anything but think of them.

I wish I had the confidence in myself, physically and emotionally, to be the dommy person people seem to see in me. Seem to like.

@fluxom_alt but then I find myself second guessing that. Why be what people want me to be?

Is it really that hard to see me outside of the reflections in other's eyes? Mirrors and photographs are just... Shape and color. Why even of me is there that isn't other people?

Why is it that 6am, after hours of wavering between crying and arrousal am I fucking even typing this out?

@fluxom_alt cause hey I just noticed I e been @ ing Lo though so...

Fuck does that hivemind seem appealing, the space our narrator is in at the end of chapter 4? I deeply wish I had that. The gap between me and us is always a strange one for my dumb plural brain and fuck would being semi-linked like that be an extremely welcome thing.

Does that make me weak? Is 82 less of a person than me now? I don't think so, but is that the envy talking?

Okay, let's stop harassing Lo.

I... I want to write. I want to be able to focus on things I care about. I know, and I'm going to be talking to my doctor about other meds or similar.

I have comics I want to draw, stories I want to write. But like, is that for wanting to create or wanting the reaction?

Is it normal to wonder if I'm only doing art for the reward? Not money, fuck capitalism, but the praise of having done good.

I don't draw for myself. I made a picrew thing... Because I wanted to see more people playing around with my dumb dragon race.

My twine game? I'm more interested in how people felt about it that how much I even liked it.

But like... Fuck it keeps going down this dumb hole. Am I just telling myself this because a tortured artist is more sympathetic than a depressed and generally lazy person?

What even is a reliable internal monologue? Do you just... Know Things Are True? Not 2+2=4. That's like, how the world works.

Other people and your own emotions. It took me most of my life to learn to try to turn the judging audience in my skull into a conversation of sorts. But that still has communication issues.

Is that something other people deal with? Am I some kind of atypical or just desperately grabbing at hoping I am to have an excuse?

The world is big and scary and makes no sense once you get past physics. Math is cofusing in a challenging puzzle sort of way.

People are just. Baffling. Like, I feel like I get it, but it's purely trained instinct rather than. Proper understanding.

But somehow I... Matter to people. Friends care about me. Deeply. I love them. I love a lot. I dunno what romance really is in that. But that's. Whole different thing.

I want to be able to feel... confident. I keep coming back to that, it's the closet word I have.

But I want it. I want to help people and not desperately need their confirmation of my action in return.

I want to have self worth. I want to help others find it too. I want to be able to make something that will have someone else. Up late, unable to sleep, pouring their soul out to find how it ticks.