today i am 6,258 days old. that's 894 weeks or 205.3 months.

this means it has been 17 years, 1 month and 18 days since i was forcibly removed from my mothers body, and nothing has been right since.

good things are happening to me, and bad things too. these things really highlight to me how my brain is supposed to think.

key word here is always supposed to, i'm supposed to look a certain way, be a certain way, feel a certain way. yet i am far too stuck inside my own head for comfort.

how do these "good things" not equate to good feelings? or any feelings at all?

there are always so many possibilities but none of them have ever appealed to me. maybe tomorrow they will. maybe day 6,259 will be different. here's to hope.