i need to relax

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Hey there, Stranger. 


I think I need to slow down before I burn out completely.

I called in sick this weekend.

Technically, I’m not sick.

Unless you count a mind that’s been slipping through the cracks like sand.

And maybe you should.

I’m not sorry.

I needed time to breathe—to do nothing, to be nothing.

So I took a mental health weekend,

and for once, I’m not carrying guilt around like a second skin.


The plan is simple:

games that don’t ask too much of me,

a book (Normal People, because irony is a love language),

and long stretches and sketches of simply existing.

Breathing like it matters.

Because it does.

I don’t know when it became controversial to take care of your brain,

but here we are, pretending broken spirits can still clock into 9-to-5 shifts.

They should make mental health days a national holiday.

Put it in textbooks. Carve it in stone.

I’d sign that petition in my sleep.


Anyway—I’m rewatching Awkward.

Yes, that one—where teenagers are confused and hormonal and somehow it feels like a documentary.

Honestly?

That show is why I started this journal.

(Also because writing by hand makes my wrist cramp and my brain outrun the ink.)

Typing feels like running downhill with no brakes.

Dangerous. Liberating. Right.

This little digital diary is my secret room,

where the walls don’t expect me to perform.

No masks. No careful edits.

Just the ugly, beating heart of it all.


Funny, isn’t it?

How being anonymous feels more honest than showing your face.

Like somewhere along the way, “being real” got tangled up with “being impressive.”

Here, no one’s watching.

And maybe that’s why I can finally hear myself think.

Maybe that’s the real flex:

Not disappearing,

but finally arriving.


Anyway. Deep thoughts aside—

only a week until I see my straight boy again.

Wuhu. Miss that fucker.


P.S. Valentine’s Day happened.

And somehow every florist and candy aisle thought it was their personal duty

to make sure I felt aggressively single.

It’s fine.

I don’t even want a relationship right now.

*He said, crying in the club*

Maybe it’s just the sheer volume of it all.

All the kissing, all the hand-holding,

all the balloon-and-bear combos making out in public.


Honestly?

Every time I see a couple locking lips,

I feel mildly nauseous.


…Well.


Maybe just the straight ones.



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