day 2: get rid of a limiting belief that you have about yourself or your abilities
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I wish I could bottle my mania when it's at its peak because there isn't much that compares to its deliciousness. Maybe Michael's Secret Stuff from the 1996 animated sports comedy film Space Jam. You can't tell me nothin' when I'm on one. My broken nose, deep brown eyes, self-plucked eyebrows, and thin lips suddenly appear to be magazine cover worthy. The random trivia my memory stores no longer annoys people but is a treasure trove that makes me vastly superior to them. And my writing talent that I definitely put on the back burner for far too extended increments is my meal ticket, waiting impatiently in the crevices of my mind.
I need this juice at my disposal because when I'm backsliding into a depressive episode, waves of inadequacy swallow me whole and I am unable to see the sun. Any sliver of optimism or fuzziness or light or comfort is devoured by self-loathing. The only view I have are newspaper clippings of my shortcomings: remember when I was the biggest bully in elementary school? Remember how I got caught shoplifting eight dollar necklaces at Walmart and was denied jobs because of it? Remember when I didn't go to LPN finals when I was 19 and started my 20s off on the sourest note possible? The list goes on and on and on.
The biggest contributor to this feeling is my own concept of lack, which is indubitably inspired by society as well as a self-imposed prison I can only escape once I am "successful". Now, I think I've watched Clueless one too many times (the movie, not the subsequent tv show) as I've always dreamed of living such a lavish lifestyle: a gorgeous mansion, personalized closet controlled by a computer, brand-new Jeep, and a mind void of worldwide pain & inequity. There's a finish line that seems unattainable, but I know once I cross that hoe I'll be free and content in my own body, like when I earn a bachelor's degree. Or maybe when I lose the thirty pounds I've gained since high school? Or maybe when I can repay my mom, financially and any other way she sees fit, for being the one person on Earth who's put up with the brunt of my malarkey? Or maybe when I publish the book I've tried to finish for eight years? Or maybe when I drive a car made in the 21st century? Those possibilities sound endless and yet they are elusive to me now more than ever.
"I think, therefore I am," said René Descartes Billie Eilish. And today... I know I can superplex my inadequacy from the top rope because I'm the shit. I've endured hella hardships and even more heartaches, but I've statistically overcame 100% of the troubles I thought would lead to my demise. It's time to put quitting and lollygagging in the garbage disposal and let my true capability get to cookin'. Now... where did I put that bottle?
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