This is from March... It has an uplifting ending I haven't written yet

I am a new human today. Sick of the filth of yesterday. The grime that I thought was pure gold--that sought after gem in the rough trenches of earth...only to identify its true worth: a contaminated attempt at pure beauty.

Is that what I was all those years? A contaminated attempt at pure beauty? The putrid scent of raw flesh dressed in fashion. Fashion is pretend. Just a covering of insecurity with swaths of depravity and lonliness--all pretending to be glorious and expressive and alive.

But I'm not talking about fashion. I'm reacting out of my old mind-set in regard to what I wore, how I wore it, who I wore it around, why I wore it. And not simply just clothing. Clothing is hardly any of it. Everything. My music, my art, my car, my house, my personality, my laugh, my face, my hat, my shoes, my fingernails, my journal entrees, my blogging, my judgments, my on-line profiles, my conversations, my voice, my intonation, my humor, my friends, my interests, my pathways, my college, my God, my classes, my coffee orders, my nutrition, my job, my sense of irony, my politics, ethics, my cynicism, morals, my charities... everything. After years of stuffing my life with everything I believed in--valuing its important above all else-- I have since discovered what it was, after climbing on top of it. A Dump heap. The sewage of vanity. The soot of pride.