Words

Sometimes, Satan gets to me without me knowing:

"Saturday January 9th
I'm ugly. That's what I feel like. It's not what I tell myself but it's what twists around inside of me. I see everyone else as complete, beautiful, they-know-who-they-are--just well put together.
I'm such a wreck. Up and down. Decide. Indecisive. Wear this. Wear that.
I confuse myself. I'm not sure how my gears work, what I want, or why I care about how other people see me.
I lack confidence. I despise every nasty symptom that comes with that."

Did you count how many times I said "I"?
The next morning was Sunday. This is what I wrote after I had read my scriptures:

"Sunday, January 10th
Last night, as I was trying to put my thoughts into words-- digging for the best adjectives and the perfect emotion to describe that darkness-- I think Satan got in. He gave me words, sure he did, but he made me feel even worse. He helped me brainstorm perfectly awful thoughts, pushing me deeper.
He's tricky, but I still can't believe I fell for it."

This fluctuation is a product of constant self-concern. I need to watch how many times I say "I" in a day.