Hello beautiful,

I’ve got a lot on my mind tonight, so I'll unpack it one by one. I'm going to be real with you, because you deserve honesty. I don't think I'm in a great place mentally right now.

Life on the surface looks fine—work, gym, piano, singing, walking, journaling. Everything is steady.

But it all feels stale. And lately, I've been turning toward erotic asphyxiation to feel some intensity.

It got to the point where I was hanging a rope from the shower beam, kneeling, and feeling the dizziness and blackness closing in. A voice in my head told me to let go. I stopped just before I blacked out, and when I stood up, I cried. It felt like self-harm. I know if I'd stayed there just a few more seconds, that might've been it for me.

I still find myself jerking off to that image of me hanging there, and I know how unhealthy it is—to associate arousal with death. But that's where I am, buddy. I'm too embarrassed to seek help, so l carry it inside. A big part of it, I think, is that I've lived enough life to know what it's about—and nothing excites me anymore. Everything feels routine. What I need is something new, something that challenges me, something that stirs passion again and I'm still searching for that.

On another note, I had my second-last singing lesson today. Honestly, I've been counting down for the 10 weeks to be over. Singing has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. I've wanted to quit so many times. But I can't deny the massive improvement I've seen in my voice these last couple of weeks. My teacher is really good—always stressing consistency, not because she wants to keep me as a student, but because she believes singing is a lifelong practice. A part of me wants to step back and just sing casually, but an even stronger part wants to keep going, despite the difficulty. And I think that's what I'II do—commit to another term. I originally wanted to do it for the whole year, so maybe it's best to take it one term at a time.

Finally, there's Suf. He hasn't messaged me in about a week. And, strangely, I don't feel sad about it. I just shrugged my shoulders and moved on. It is a little sad—we'd been exchanging voice memos for seven weeks straight, and then suddenly it stopped. But I don't mourn it. I don't grieve. And that confuses me.

I've also been casually talking to Amin. It doesn't seem like it'll amount to much, but I'm okay with that. It's a very chill, low-flame type of connection, unlike the intense burn I've had with others. If this were the younger me, I would've stressed out and decided it wasn't worth it. But I think I've grown. I see now that connections come in different flavors, different spices. And this slower, gentler kind is something I'm learning to savour.

Hope you are doing well on your end buddy. Chat soon xx