Dear Reader,

 January 24, 2024

    It's been made clear to me, over time and through conversations, that my brain health is ~not so slowly~ declining. I am sure there are studies proving a connection between mental illness and dimentia. Sprinkle in brain injuries like multiple concussions, and a rich maternal family history of alzheimers and dementia, and you get one foggy-brained thirty year old.

    It is my pleasure then, to write to you- dear reader- so that my life may not go unnoticed or forgotten. I regret not writing more, especially during my college years, or even just writing about the happier times. As you have probably noticed by now, I am a sucker for psychological masochism. I like to psychoanalyze myself to prove there's something wrong with me. As if I can finally be who I want to be if only I can decipher what is wrong with me, and change it. Here's the thing though, I dont actually need to change anything about myself, except for maybe my attitude towards myself. 

    My hope is that through the writings of my personal experiences in this this silly little game of life, I will realize just how loveable and acceptable I am. 

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