This, from almost a year ago:
8 Sept. 2008 That feeling rises up in my chest, like I cant stand the sight of my dirty apartment, like I cant get up another morning and go to work, like its just not working anymore and I keep thinking, this is not what Im like, this is not what I do, but it is, it is what I do, this is what I do. This is what I am, this is where I live. The fantasies begin, brutal and unyielding and I know this cant be good but I cant help myself. Right now the living room is crammed with boxes, my clothes are in garbage bags in the closet, my car is broken down on the other side of the river. Surely there is something better than this. Surely I did not leave my hometown for this.
There are plants, at least, and my dog. The apartment is not yet squalid, only half-made. Like my life. The inexorability of my day-to-day life terrifies me. This is not me, this is not my life. The real me is living somewhere, something else.
9 Sept. 2008 The mornings are better, of course. There is coffee and light. Something gets better. Its just another day. The light through the window in the bedroom, the shower, the bus stop. The elevator up. The mindless talk.
Lifes passes in days. In days and nights.
I dont mind being alone at night. But I still leave the light on.
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17 August 2009 Things are changing. I'm having a beer to celebrate the end of the day and it's okay because things are changing. I've finally hung up my clothes, the car is running, I'm starting classes in a month. The bottles of pills empty themselves like a sacrifice and some nights I don't cry. But I still leave the light on.
8 Sept. 2008 That feeling rises up in my chest, like I cant stand the sight of my dirty apartment, like I cant get up another morning and go to work, like its just not working anymore and I keep thinking, this is not what Im like, this is not what I do, but it is, it is what I do, this is what I do. This is what I am, this is where I live. The fantasies begin, brutal and unyielding and I know this cant be good but I cant help myself. Right now the living room is crammed with boxes, my clothes are in garbage bags in the closet, my car is broken down on the other side of the river. Surely there is something better than this. Surely I did not leave my hometown for this.
There are plants, at least, and my dog. The apartment is not yet squalid, only half-made. Like my life. The inexorability of my day-to-day life terrifies me. This is not me, this is not my life. The real me is living somewhere, something else.
9 Sept. 2008 The mornings are better, of course. There is coffee and light. Something gets better. Its just another day. The light through the window in the bedroom, the shower, the bus stop. The elevator up. The mindless talk.
Lifes passes in days. In days and nights.
I dont mind being alone at night. But I still leave the light on.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
17 August 2009 Things are changing. I'm having a beer to celebrate the end of the day and it's okay because things are changing. I've finally hung up my clothes, the car is running, I'm starting classes in a month. The bottles of pills empty themselves like a sacrifice and some nights I don't cry. But I still leave the light on.
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
Once in a while, naps make me feel like crap. But most of the time, yes, divine is an appropriate word. Especially with a kitty or a few nearby.
this reminds me of a haiku I wrote:
trembling wild again
reborn into the moment
murmured sang selves
thank you for sharing this murmuring, this singing of yourself
it feels like you have been through a difficult period - writing it makes it a little less terrible and more comprehensible
for a brief time I wrote down my life as I was struggling with (and continue to struggle with) manic depression
perhaps I will share some of it with you if you are interested