Focus. Try to focus. Write and focus.

Could I ever write enough to feel relief? No, doubtful. Because discomfort comes with the territory. Of being and breathing and being conscious. I write and write and scribble bits of this reality, this one I know. I woke up on time, gave the cat kibbles, and started a pot of coffee. I watched porn and fantasized and realized if used well, fantasizing can be a healing tool. I procrastinated and did things other than what might be wise. I contemplated more sleep and plans for the rest of the day. Work and structure can be helpful, but other times hindering. I do feel proud. I feel strong and accomplished and almost indifferent. It's good, it's all good. But even when it's not as good, it's ok. It's a continuum and I'm glad for the energy and focus to produce, to make this thing in this moment. To have the ability to think and dissect thoughts and ideas. To have the capacity for social connection and interaction. To reflect and know gratitude, even through the pains and aches.
I want to challenge myself, but not destroy myself. Hold myself accountable, but not shred my attempts at improvement or just getting by. Today is an off-day and a struggle, but not every day is and I've made positive and healthy changes. I'm in the midst of a med change. Focus feels out-of-reach at the moment, but I'll try more in the next few hours.