Yes, I did. Wholeheartedly. Which is amazing, because I haven't been doing much of that lately. I was high as sin, but it felt great as hell. A special thanks to Brie and Dill. It's funny how you can forget how great it feels to grin without effort and laugh 'til you cry.
Times such as these are the ones that make me wonder if I'm psychologically cut out for life. I'm already a mess half of the time. Sometimes, every little thing will make me anxious, stressed, worried, twitchy, and sad, from working towards my B.A and adapting my two work schedules to my courses, to struggling to remember the idea in my mind because heavens forbid I forget it before I get to write it down, to going in a state of utter panic because I just realized that when I went to the store, I grabbed an item with one hand without touching it with the other. The hardest part is keeping it together. Fucking with myself and others by routinely convincing the both of us that I'm normal.
Intrusive images are the worst, especially lately. I know I'll have to face them eventually, like I have with the past with my equally persistent but much less distressing reoccuring thoughts and visuals about spiders, paper cuts, snapped limbs, public mockery, hypothetical humiliation, and long, shiney, painted nails on a school blackboard. Not now though. For now, I tuck the pictures and the painful memories inhibiting my mind neatly away in a peripheral drawer, where they'll be readily available to deal with when I see fit. In the meantime, I'll gladly put up with the by-products of this temporary selective amnesia. Any compulsive tick, any frantically performed, seemingly important-beyond-measure ritual, is better than the horrific or at the very least uncomfortable thought from which it stems.
If you measure how I'm doing using visual cues such as my seemingly cheerful disposition, if you calculate it based on my current level of productivity... well, in those respects, I'm doing just fine. I keep myself busy, I live my life by the cheapest clichés. I seek adventure, I read, I write, I surround myself with people I love, and I smile, no matter how I feel inside.
And, when I really, really can't deal, I take a walk, light up a pinner, and try and get a little bit of what is often so accurately described as one of nature's most effective cure-alls: laughter.
Intrusive images are the worst, especially lately. I know I'll have to face them eventually, like I have with the past with my equally persistent but much less distressing reoccuring thoughts and visuals about spiders, paper cuts, snapped limbs, public mockery, hypothetical humiliation, and long, shiney, painted nails on a school blackboard. Not now though. For now, I tuck the pictures and the painful memories inhibiting my mind neatly away in a peripheral drawer, where they'll be readily available to deal with when I see fit. In the meantime, I'll gladly put up with the by-products of this temporary selective amnesia. Any compulsive tick, any frantically performed, seemingly important-beyond-measure ritual, is better than the horrific or at the very least uncomfortable thought from which it stems.
If you measure how I'm doing using visual cues such as my seemingly cheerful disposition, if you calculate it based on my current level of productivity... well, in those respects, I'm doing just fine. I keep myself busy, I live my life by the cheapest clichés. I seek adventure, I read, I write, I surround myself with people I love, and I smile, no matter how I feel inside.
And, when I really, really can't deal, I take a walk, light up a pinner, and try and get a little bit of what is often so accurately described as one of nature's most effective cure-alls: laughter.
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