Occasionally and randomly as if compelled by a possessing spirit I find myself back here. It is strange coming hear. It is frozen moments. Echos lost to the void. I read the words I've written and I don't recognize the echo that formed the syllables. I am not the person I was; but are any of use really ever who we were?
The moments that I come back here I am often surprised by a lone anonymous comment that was was thrown into the void months or years ago. A reflection of a person thanking me for writing something. I don't pretend to think that something I wrote helped someone in some way shape or form, hell, it might have made things worse. All the same, those echos are there and offer a reflection of someone. That is so weird to me. But I can understand. There were times in my depression that I would type fragments of thoughts only half explored into Google and find a rantings and ravings of someone's echo that made sense to me, it helped, and hurt.
I find myself here now just like I have 562 times in the past, with a good song, trying to tame the wild inner monologue that accompanies my adventures into something tangible and digestible. However, it is very different. I'm not depressed, I'm not sad, I'm not heartbroken, lost, scared, or even drunk. I'm content. I'm happy with my life. This is something that I'm still not used to, even though I've been riding the 'happy boat' for a number of years now. Without those demons tearing at my flesh I seem to be at a loss for words...
This was always something I did for me. It was something to pour my negativity into. It was a coping skill. I would vomit my the internal feelings into this white box and feel better, at least for a short time. This pissed some people off of course. I've been unfriended and unwatched along with comments like
"What is wrong with you?"
It is to those people that I would raise a glass and give a hearty fuck you. This has always been for me.
It is that thought that has me at the moment. I couldn't make it, on my own or on the path that I was on. Perhaps that was for me on a completely different level. Reading these ancient echos I can feel myself yelling at me,
"Please, get better."
Well, I have. Maybe we all need to talk to ourselves a little more.
I need you to recover because I can't make it on my own.