Looking at this account is like looking at my life before I gained trauma and I don’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, I’m being shown myself as everything I’ve yearned for since those days; a life where I didn’t have to regret, a life where I didn’t develop a borderline savior complex after playing therapist got too real for a teenager to handle. On the other hand, I’m looking at myself in the time where I was slowly rotting away, feeling trapped in my own body with dysphoria I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I’d like to look back, and say, and think, this is who I was. But this? This is alien to me. I was so different, back then, back when I didn’t have to save others.