I think I lost my headache.

It’s been much more quiet in my head as of late. I no longer jump to insulting my self whenever the littlest thing happens. Somehow I’ve started cutting my self some slack. It hasn’t stopped completely, but when it happens, I usually notice. And noticing is most of the work it seems.

I didn’t believe that how I think could be altered. You’d expect that such a thing would be tied to the core of your identity. Sometimes the thoughts never kick off to begin with, and when I realize, it gives me this weird whiplash. It’s relief, with a creeping sense of grief. I feel this weird lack of direction.

I think the pain that I’ve been causing my self has been a twisted source of comfort. It was all mine to own, and it was a primer for whatever pain I feared would come my way. A way for me to preemptively numb out the unknown with the familiar.

It now seems to me like cowardice, and I don’t want to be coward anymore.