grateful for all that I have, nostalgia for all that’s lost.

almost normal until I remember.

like I should have rationed my weed supply but now I’m out.

restless

nostalgic for when I wasn’t afraid to be close to other people.

exhausted.

guilt for not helping more but being too anxious to help

beyond fucking frustrated plus ensuing residual guilt plus exhaustion plus fat

like the pressure is never going to let up.

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