i think one of the scariest things is knowing that parts of my life are already disappearing.
old conversations. ordinary days. people i once knew closely.
maybe that’s why i keep photos, messages, random notes, even things that seem completely unimportant.
small proof that i was there.
that this version of me existed.
because losing a memory feels a little too much like losing a piece of myself.
i’m slowly recovering from last week’s mental meltdown, except i can’t remember what triggered it. i remember how much it hurt, just not what happened. somehow, learning about rejection sensitive dysphoria made me look at my past a little differently. and now i’m wondering how many things i’ve forgotten while still carrying the feelings they left behind.