Version

I wonder how I'll feel about then current version of myself later in life. I wonder what I will remember. The constant heavy black liner that somehow represents my rejection of certain beauty standards, my confidence, my toughness, my aesthetic preferences, and my continuing acceptance of the actions I regret, the losses I mourn? My weird second (third?) puberty, induced by drastic (but purposeful, controlled, and healthy) weight loss? Relearning my body in the mirror, under my own fingertips, being able to confidently wear clothing I would categorize as "a healthy amount of witchslutty?" My increased ability to not only abide but thrive? My decreased interest in what random people think of me?

Related but separate, I wish I knew how I would feel about you. A year from now, two years. I feel you'll be in my life in some capacity, but I'm dying to know the details and we haven't discovered them yet.

What will the next version be like? The one after that? How many more will there be before I die?

I hate this version of me. People say they like me, they love me, but that's bullshit. These people don't even know me. They know who they think is me, because I hide behind jokes when I'm depressed. Aren't I a funny fucking guy? I get the feeling that everyone is lying to me. That they know how fucked up I am, and that they are either just trying to make me feel better or they are secretly talking shit behind my back. Or both. Everything just feels so fake. And the one thing that felt real in my life is just deteriorating. It hurts when you say you love me. If you loved me, you'd read the signs. You'd know when I need someone there for me. I'm tired of being lied to, but more than that, I'm tired of not being able to tell what's a lie anymore.