Looking back on my old posts I felt like a clueless fool. A year ago I was on cloud nine and feeling better. All I could seem to do was write about how wonderful it felt to get my life back. How happy and independent I was.
I thought I had all the answers and I spewed those out to the world to try and make it a better place.
What a braggy bitch.
But yknow, now that I am trying to get better again I’ve realized something.
That version of me is who I aspire to be again.
I’m jealous of my past self.
But how could I not be? That girl was fun, sassy, happy, talented, and actually wanted to be alive.
And honestly I bet to the rest of the world I still am those things. But it doesn’t matter unless I know them to be true.
And I don’t. Not yet.
Reading back on my posts I feel jealous, but I also realize that this girl, this wonderful version of me, she played her cards just right.
She lived, damnit. She worked, she played, she cared, she accomplished things, and she loved.
She savored every moment of normal and told the world about it.
Even work. Work became fun because she knew it was a part of normal life.
And yeah, she bragged, but who wouldn’t? Life finally made sense. It finally had meaning. She finally felt comfortable in her own skin.
There are days when I don’t feel so low. I actually feel kind of okay sometimes.
On those days I get so confused on how to feel. Sometimes I panic. I freak out about feeling somewhat normal and I waste it all. Sometimes it makes me sad. I know it’s only temporary and that fact gets me down.
My feelings are valid, but in those instances I have choices.
And I want to choose to enjoy those moments. I don’t feel perfect or happy or manic. I just feel a little more normal.
But that is a gift.