Turnabout

For a few days now, I've been trying to live full out. That means I've been working on my thesis but also doing whatever it is I feel like doing. Whatever it is I can do. It's led to this strange sensation that hit me yesterday that I felt like my old self. The old rida. From two years ago. And it was liberating. I felt like wild crazy me!

I have my bad moments that start during the quiet afternoons which I now hate. They are the times when, if my mind does not sleep, it rapidly descends into irrational thoughts of the mind-puddle type. Slimy, ugghh puddles. Hurtful things, u*ly things. Insecurities. Self-loathing. Strange images of deaths and pain and anger. Justified and unjustified frustration. The self-loathing is the worst: the idea that I despise myself and cannot gain the acceptance I need from myself to even make me get up and move.

My life two months from now is a large blank. It's scary. It's actually got gaping holes right now even, but I've been sloppily filling them up however adequately possible to feel whole. Hence, I have somehow subconsciously called in two-year-back me, the one who knows how to wear the armor and do all the required moves in it. She likes to be wild and spontaneous. She's the wall builder, and the one who resorts to being numb as a method of self-defense. It's an important aspect of my personality that I had lost while letting down my guard, letting it down quite, quite far. So for now, not feeling too deeply, or rather, not delving into places where my mind can stop to catch a breath and just ponder, is a good thing. I provide my head with enough constant background noise so it is not able to hear itself think (ugghh I know that was terrible).

I can spend most of the day, as a result, in a happy fireproof bubble. It kinda makes me wonder at how much of a sappy weakling I had become. All weepy-teary. Now I'm all unfeeling and wacky. Who wants caring sentimental me anyway?