In your mind’s eye, you see pentacles.

I don’t care if it’s a new year; the only altered thing is the last digit in the date.

For my sake, I need to love myself more than anything else.
I don’t understand how I was doing this so wrongly the past six years.
After over half a decade of self-loathing and throwing pity parties with low attendances, I learned to love me.
No one’s being around taught me how to tolerate me, how to aid me, how to scold me, how to be me. 

It’s not beautiful, and I’m not going to charade as if I enjoy this. I don’t. I’m just so damned tired of feeling bad for myself and getting nowhere with that disposition.

I hope this experience will teach me that I don’t necessarily need friends as long as I love myself and believe in myself, even if I know in the nape of my neck and the back of my mind that there’s no possible way I can accomplish something. But that’s fine because I’d rather be the one to tell me that I’m incapable of accomplishing a goal, instead of some outsider who poses as a temporary friend.