deathboy | Feb. 28th, 2009

Being a bit drunk, after a long, hard week, I've been trying to pin down what it is that is better about my life right now.

There are very obvious and wonderful things - me and Liz had obviously passed some point years and years ago, before Corben, maybe before London, where we were doing things because they seemed like what we were supposed to do, instead of what would make us happy.

That's the obvious part, the wonderful part is that I wound up with Kirsten, and with everything apparently falling to pieces, the crucial things on the very interior of the whirling fuckup of my life were actually fixed and working for the first time in years.

I pride myself on my level of introspection... I always figured that if I couldn't be happy, or sane or have something resembling a good life, I could at least honestly know what was wrong, and have a grip on things, at the very least, I wouldn't be guilty of deluding myself. If life is poor and vile and painful, I reckon you should sink your teeth into it and accept responsibility for it. It's much better to have a horrible, shitty truth to cling to at night than a big, soft, comforting lie.

But my ability to dissect myself is failing at the moment.

And I'm not full of fury and frustration, wanting to scream and shout, and it's not that I'm content and floating. I'm just sort of breathing again. I keep looking at my hands, spreading my palms and really looking at my fingers and it feels like I've woken up from a really long sleep and I can't remember exactly where I am, and it's a sort of pleasant surprise to find that everything works mostly as I expect, even though I don't really feel connected to it.

My mom and dad say that they can't remember the last time I sounded so optimistic and happy. I do feel good, but I don't see this sea-change they continually talk about, I just feel as though

yeah, i don't know. i feel as though.

i don't have to finish my sentences. i don't have to finish my dayjob with a perfect, elegantly crafted solution to the day's programatical problems. i don't have to solve every puzzle in front of me. i don't have to spit out music. i don't have to drink every night. i don't have to wake up sobbing. i don't have to sit on the toilet staring at the wall, tearing my life to pieces, looking at these tiles and wondering how i got here. i don't have to do anything at all.

things i'd decided i hated seem ok. my reasons for hating them seem distant and churlish. when i get angry, i

i just got it

i'm balanced

hahahahahahhahahahahahaahahaahahhahhaahhahahahahaahhahahahahahahah :D

oh fucking hell

i couldn't find the metaphor
i didn't know how to say that, it felt like a pressure was gone, but it wasn't like that

amusingly, I'm laughing and crying like a fucking manic :)

oh god :D

that's what it was :D

i'm balanced

that's why things work better
that's why it feels like it makes fucking sense
that's why i think about bad things and feel shit, then i pull back up automatically
that's why THAT HAPPENING feels so fucking alien - i've spent about 13 fucking years NOT doing that
why the closest i could dig up was like when i was on citalopram and nothing really mattered that much, but it's not like that, it's like the hurt's gone, but things are still important

oh,god, it feels good to wrap words around it

christ, i'm so happy, i forgot that i have a delicious sandwich to eat :D

i'm not sure if i can post this, i sound proper mad.

how hilarious :)

oh, god, this feels good

i'm going to eat my sandwich and talk to kirsten for a bit.