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i posted this because my entry was kinda depressing |
I've been wanting to write for quite awhile now. I know that I've written, but not the way I've wanted to, or want to I should say. I can't seem to form words that represent my thoughts accuratly enough to publish them on this widely read medium. As I sit here with my glass of almost room tempurature Coke and a bowl of Cheesies, I wonder why I can't feel accomplished, content or relaxed. I often find myself lost in my own torment, creating barriers for myself, creating problems where there aren't any, or shouldn't be any. Now I want to get this next part right because it's very important to me to accuratley communicate exactly what it's like. There are days when my spirit feels lighter than air, where the very act of cleaning a room brings me such joy and accomplishment; where I feel so comfortable that I just sit in the middle of the floor and smile and I'm happy - no - fucking happy. Those days, I enjoy my meals... I enjoy cooking them and eating them, I even enjoying doing the dishes afterwards and putting them away so that the counter appears clean and spotless. On those days I could sit down in front of the TV with a little bit of junk food and watch a movie or play a game and feel so secure and relaxed that it's quite close to what heaven would be, if heaven were a real place (let's not get carried away here). Why are those days so fucking few and far between? Why the fuck am I not entitled to feel that most of the time? Why do those times last for a day or two, and then just rip away from me without warning.