Musings on depression, engineering, startuping.
Speaking into the void isn’t fun anymore and my therapist costs money.
Diving into the realm of therapy often initiates with a simple suggestion – start journaling.
If there’s ever been a panacea to modern life, its the promise of journalling. Journaling stands as a touted antidote to the frenzied whirlwind of modern life, a seemingly unassuming yet powerful catalyst for clarity.
Second is Meditation and third is Psilocybin, of course.
Yet, in the sanctum of therapy, we are told a journal is deeply personal - it's a vault meant exclusively for our own thoughts. Sometimes, its pages aren't even intended to be revisited. It’s a chance to put pen to paper, to consolidate the nebulous thoughts in your brain.
I find myself at a cross roads, I have many thoughts. Many pages. Some now lost to the oblivion of garbage bins, others immortalized as screenshots, tucked away safely in the expanse of my iCloud account.
Some of them worth sharing, some not.
This is where I share the ones that are.