I'm a not so hot mess

It is like 12 fucking 40 in the morning and I am actively crying and also about to throw up and jfc the bar exam is a such bullshit wtf wtf wtf wtf

Some weeks are lile "wow it's Friday already!" and some weeks the painful agony of Tuesday feels like it lasts for three days.

I can't actually tell if things are always meant to be ass backwards and sideways or if I'm making progress and just finding new issues to debug? Managed to get this far on the one hand but on the other the existential dread and abject terror has been constant since age 12. Idk I'm doing better on specific complaints from earlier entries but in other ways I'm still struggling?

Idk, I'm vaguely sad over a loss that isn't mine, vaguely catastrophizing a new flirting situation into an awkward failed relationship attempt in my mind, and definitely struggling to sleep at 4:30 am

The first memorable dreams I've had in a while and one was a nightmare about a girl who broke up with my younger dream cousin dying being buried by a serial killer in a snow man for me to find??? The other one was me at a baseball game with a group of friends who have never hung out with each other and a replica Thomas the Tank Engine crashed over the fence and into our seats and we just barely dodged out of the way??? And then because mine and my best friends seats were occupied by Thomas we went to leave and had an ANTM style exit sequence where my bestie was eliminated but I was offered a chance to stay that I turned down because I hate baseball (this last part is true I don't like it)

Or, and hear me out here because thinking about emotions is stupid and I hate it, we listen to South Loop Summer on repeat. Just let the album play like 6 times. It's called coping sweaty

Idk, I said nice things to people I respect today and got 2 unexpected responses and they were both very sweet and kind. Like objectively today was fine if unproductive but also?

It occurs to me, sitting here reading a book that contains the story of coming out to one's parents, that I do not remember the first discussion I had with my mother (likely too early, probably a result of her pushing), the second resulting in an "I have no idea what you're talking about, my head hurts, have a good night", and I have never had this conversation with my father.

I guess the most memorable one is my grandmother who repressed it for five years and then got into a fight with me so big we didn't talk for months (of course it was claimed that I overreacted, was being irrational).

I've developed anxieties, spiraled, and learned to cope with more wild shit since Sept of 2019 than I care to attempt to count, quite frankly. I say this not as a flex, but as a reminder that maybe I should give myself some credit for that even when it feels like no one else will.