This is a bad place to be three days before the start of the new year. I can't seem to keep myself together long enough to maintain basic functionality. Everything that ever hurt has started hurting more. And it looked like I was doing so well...
I just can't get past this. And I shouldn't have asked you to wake me last night. But that's my own mistake. I should've known it was a bad idea. Because where I went to bed in a reasonable mood, going to bed after you did left me in a mood comparable to the one I was in for most of the day yesterday. And that seems to have just picked up and continued throughout today.
So I have three days. Three days to pull myself together. And I'm just sitting here, incapable of doing anything, trying to figure out what the hell to do with myself, because I can't get work done and I would really rather not spend the day moping on the couch. This whole week just isn't shaping up terribly well. I was so excited to talk to you again, but it's just not the same. And it's me. It's all me. All of the problems are in my head, and I know that. I just wish I knew how to get them out.
I'm drowning myself in music and this is possibly the second time in my life that I've wished I had a good set of speakers. It's all your fault, you know, you got me hooked on the music, and now you're getting me addicted to the sound. I just need to feel something right now, and the ebb and flow of the sound is almost it. Almost. Which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe if it was louder, if I could really, literally, feel it, then maybe it would make this go away, make me better.
I've never figured out how to fix my problems. I always just knew that waiting them out would do it eventually. So that's how it's always worked. Because I've always tried hard to be on top of everything, and that usually means I can afford to spend a day just waiting for everything that hurts to pass. I spent countless Wednesdays sitting on a bed that wasn't mine, staring down at the floor. Sometimes I took long showers and wondered if anyone would miss me when I'm gone.
I generally came to the conclusion that no, nobody would. I'm nothing special. And much as my overgrown ego objects to this, I understand it. I know that in the long run, I'm not worth anything. I will never change the world. I will not be remembered. I am small. And I am insignificant. And I'm becoming more and more okay with that. I'm pretty sure that I've changed people's lives. I've also been changed by them. And that's more than enough for me.
So maybe if I keep writing, if my fingers never stop dancing over the keys (even though I know the motion is really nowhere near as elegant), maybe I'll be okay. Maybe this will pass sooner. Maybe I'll be able to get up and do something, anything, with myself today.
As of right now, I still need a title for this post. That hardly ever happens anymore. It used to be a big problem when I started blogging. But I've gotten good at being able to put a title down--be it a generalization or a phrase or lyrics--before I even start the post. Right now, though, I'm back where I was then. And maybe that's significant in more ways than one.
I'll get through this. Eventually. If I don't personally get through it, at the very least, I know that it will pass by itself. I can wait. I have time. For now. I've done the whole troubled thing before. I think at one point I might have even been good at it. I'm really not right now because I'm a bit out of practice. But I'll manage.
I don't know if this will ever really go away. I somehow doubt it. It comes and goes. And the first six months of any new situation always seem relatively free of it. Which is precisely what I'm just getting through--those six months that seem worry-free. I'll revert back into my shell. Hopefully this time around I'll be a bit better at crawling out of it occasionally. At least I have someone to help me work through it. I hope.
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