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We're all a Work In Progress.
This has been a particularly grounding thought for me as of late. I've been dealing with loneliness of my own making; though it's a bit ridiculous, I've been ghosting everybody who cares about me because I feel shame for not having good news to share.
In my self-made isolation, my focus often drifts to negative reflections on who I've been in the past and how I wound up with the trust issues I have. The best way to stop the negative emotions is to starve them -- to drive my focus elsewhere, to the present, or to some distraction. That doesn't stitch up the holes, though, it just stops widening them. Reflection on This idea that we're all a WIP has led me to forgive -- not in any final way, but in little ways in little moments. It's surprisingly relieving... though, insufficient still.
Insufficient for what? I'm reminded of Roland Barthes -- I'm always seeking some resolution, a concrete end. Such things do not exist, and never will. This narrative -- that's all it is, a myth, a fiction --, it repeats itself unendingly.
Still working on it.