I know that I've been horribly busy as of late. I've had a lot of shit to deal with - in truth, my life hasn't really stopped for one second since I got back from Sydney. In some ways I'm regretful of that - sometimes I miss being able to take time for myself, stop and smell the proverbial flowers and all of that rot. But the thing is.. I was sick, and I know I was sick. I honestly don't have a good recollection of the last couple of years because my depression was so bad. I know that I cried a lot of the time... and the suicidal thoughts were overwhelming to the point where I tried a few times to end it all. I know that much. But the details? Only the people who knew me then could say for sure what I was. I'm sure it wasn't pleasant.
I'm "better" now, whatever better is. I don't cry much anymore. The suicidal thoughts have diminished (although way deep down, the thought is never very far away in my brain - I suspect that will never end to a small degree). My social life is still lacking, but... sometimes I don't really mind that, as I've always sort of been alone-ish anyway. I'm used to it.
There are times, though, where I just feel like there's things missing - but at this point I think I'm as close to 'normal' as I'm going to get. Things aren't the way they used to be - they never will be again, when I was 'pre-depression' - but I can at least live again. Maybe I should just be grateful for that.
I know that I promised a lot of things - thoughts about my trip to Sydney, descriptions of my job and all of that - and eventually I'll get around to it. I'm starting to approach a point of settling back into 'normality', so once that happens and I'm comfortable, no doubt the words will begin pouring out. In the meantime, I'm just getting used to being in "the rat race" once again.
I'm alive. At least that. Now I need a LIFE, heh. -_-
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