These, these are thoughts.

When does home stop feeling like home?
When does who I was stop being who I am?
I think back to a year ago, and I feel as if someone has replaced the old me.
I am obsessed with change.
I might be getting over my panic attacks, but still occasionally they come seeking retribution for the careless actions I take in regards to myself.
I am withering and dying and a new creature is taking its place.
I sound like everyone else.
It has taken some time for me to be able to admit that I am not special, that I am not unique, that my condition is human. It gives me strength and it makes me weak.

Why is it that the most inconsequential actions tend to lead to the biggest repercussions? A planned life is not a life I rejoice in living, but it is necessary for controlled progress?
Is a need for control what makes us human?
I think it just comes with the territory.

Once again I feel as if I am regressing, but I am progressing all the time while also being stagnant. Although being stagnant entails both, as does regressing, as does progressing. Atleast in my definition of the word.

And still I move along with the world.

I agree with so many statements while also disagreeing with them and keeping up with myself is beginning to get a little maddening. I feel as if this would perhaps serve to explain quite a few things about me and about the world, but I do not feel as if I could justly explore them all without changing them, confusing them and destroying at least a part of them.