I mean, I have a skin-care routine to keep up with now.
It would take a big, mean delusion to unlearn the enlightenment that comes from developing coping skills, and frankly I do not have time to cultivate one right now. And once you turn on the lights and see what a sack of shit your old self was, you can’t never go back to not knowing. When I was a mess I had so much freedom to like, lay for six indolent hours on a sheetless mattress, but now that I’ve chosen to clean up my act, I’m all, where does the time go? The upward spiral from once-weekly therapy to thrice-weekly gym trips, a reliably stocked fridge, and a non-negotiable eight hours of sleep comes quickly. Lately I’ve been experimenting with coping, and let me tell you, what a fucking time suck.
