“Ghosted by Deadlines, Gaslit by You”
Dear Procrastination,
I think we both knew this was coming. We’ve had a long, toxic relationship—and there was a time I thought it was love. You would whisper in my ear, “You’ve got time,” and I believed you. Every. Single. Time.
Remember that essay I had almost a month to write? You told me that taking a nap would “boost productivity.” I woke up four hours later in a cold sweat, having churned out nonsense about Plato and pizza. I ended up with a C+. You said, “At least you passed,” and “Cs get degrees.” That was gaslighting at its finest.
You’ve transformed my to-do list into a fantasy novel and my weekends into a battleground. You’ve stolen precious sleep, sabotaged my confidence, and turned “tomorrow” into a false god I kept worshiping.
But I’m done.
I’m choosing structure now. I’ve met someone new. Her name is Momentum. She’s organized, consistent, and doesn’t disappear at 2:00 a.m. when deadlines loom. It’s not me; it’s definitely you.
Please don’t text or call.
“We’re Not On the Same Plate Anymore”
Dear Meal Skipping,
We need to talk. And no, don’t try to dodge this like you dodged breakfast. I’ve let you mess with my life for far too long.
You came around during “busy seasons,” finals week, back-to-back classes, and that time I tried to be “low maintenance.” At first, you seemed like a helping hand—less time eating meant more time doing… right? Wrong.
You left me dizzy in the middle of errands. Hangry during harmless conversations. You even had me mistaking coffee for a full-course meal. You’re the reason I’ve Googled “why does my stomach sound like a haunted cave?” more than once.
Let’s not forget your best trick: pretending we’re saving time, only to have me raid the fridge like a wild raccoon at midnight. That’s not efficiency. That’s sabotage in a hoodie.
So here it is: I’m seeing someone else now. Her name is Nourishment. She’s not flashy, but she shows up at least twice a day and makes sure I can think clearly. She believes in fueling my body, not draining it.
Please don’t show up uninvited again. I know your game now.
“To the Voice That Won’t Let Me Rest”
Dear Overthinking,
You always show up uninvited, don’t you? In the quiet. In the stillness. When I’m just about to choose me, there you are, spinning worst-case scenarios like a DJ at an anxiety rave.
You dress up like “responsibility” or “caring too much,” but I see you now. You convince me that putting myself first is selfish, that someone else’s comfort is more important than my peace. You have me rehearsing conversations that may never happen, rewriting texts a thousand times, and apologizing even when I haven’t done anything wrong.
You call it caution. I call it mental exhaustion.
I’ve let you shrink me—keep me from saying no, from taking up space, from believing that I’m allowed to rest without guilt. That I can put my needs on the table and not feel like I’m stealing someone else’s seat.
But I’m learning. Slowly. That I am not a bad person for choosing myself. That boundaries aren’t walls—they’re windows that let the light in while keeping the chaos out. That peace isn’t earned through worry, but through release.
So, this is your notice. You don’t get to run the show anymore. I’m not your puppet. I’m not your emotional janitor. I’m someone who deserves clarity, ease, and grace, especially from myself.
You can whisper if you want. I’m learning how to turn down the volume.
Thank you for your attention. I will forever remember our moments together. It’s time for a new chapter for me. I wish you well.
Sincerely,
Me