(This first prose writing was pulled from a file of many years. I am assuming that I was in a dark place. I’m glad I’m not there now)
Everyday I seem to think back on the old times and feel a weird rolling of my stomach muscles — a tightening, a kick — something to put me in limbo between tears and laughter.
Deja vu seems very real, especially when you know you have been at a place, whether physically or spiritually, before.
I don’t know what is going to happen later today or tomorrow or next week, month, year, but I do know that the mild, bittersweet happiness I feel right now is something I would love to bottle up and be able to spray on myself whenever the other half of me opens up.
When I feel like I want to “kill myself,” I don’t truly mean this in the physical sense. I want to “kill myself” in the psychological sense.
I don’t know why these tendencies harbor inside of me, but I do know that I do NOT like them.
I always must remember that these temporary notions are not permanent. They will go away.
Serenity is at my fingertips, which are too often wrapped around the neck of a bottle containing despair and hopelessness.