Dear diary

I do a lot of thinking before I go to sleep
I play scenes in my head
I practice the things I want to say sometimes
I make plans for the next day
I think of people I miss
I think of the ones I don't
I ask myself a lot of questions

Things are rough
And when I think and think and maybe overthink the strenuous process eventually buffs out the cutting edges of all these painful things

I am now ready and brave enough to admit that I've been a clear devil's advocate, my very own chameleon stranger. I said I forgot how to feel. I lied. What I was really feeling was pain, a kind that made me dull numb silent. Silence is a form of speech in its own secret way and sometimes the silence gets too loud and tense. I am most certain I've forgotten how to carry conversations with people wihtout seeming like I'm socially conservative and inadequate. I wished I was capable enough to be in sync with the everything.

Being accepted does not balance out the feeling of being rejected. There is no yin ying here.