I was so sure I would never make it
As I walked away from my friend's car the other day, alone in the calm and cool night, I paused for a moment to contemplate the sweater I wore. I thought about how it felt; light, and familiar, as if it were a second skin I had always worn. I felt the material hanging closely around my sleeveless arms, draping warmly over my chest, and allowed myself a second of deep, profound appreciation of its comfort. "It's funny", I thought. "This never used to fit so well."
I've been feeling better lately. It's a strange thing to say, but it's an even stranger thing to experience. Yet, it's really the only way I've been able to respond to questions like "so how are you lately?" I honestly can't say what it is. My depression is being managed nicely by the medication. My friends are good, and I'm finally able to enjoy myself with them fully instead of having to stare off into space from time to time, filled with thoughts of inevitable woe. My school troubles are nonexistent, as I ended up taking the semester off, and turned out to have done better last semester than I expected I would, putting me in good position to finally start applying myself in the spring. I've taken time to clear my head of grievances with my father, and grown to appreciate him more than I ever thought possible (and I actually managed to let him know that, I think). I've even met new people since the last time I wrote here, both of whom wonderfully balance contradicting and complementing my personality, and whose conversation and friendship I find immensely gratifying.
All in all, the last couple of months have been almost overwhelmingly pleasant. I've got friends, family, financial security, health, direction, and even a tiny bit of ambition. All that, and I still enjoy sad music.
...
And yet...
I've been feeling better lately. It's a strange thing to say, but it's an even stranger thing to experience. Yet, it's really the only way I've been able to respond to questions like "so how are you lately?" I honestly can't say what it is. My depression is being managed nicely by the medication. My friends are good, and I'm finally able to enjoy myself with them fully instead of having to stare off into space from time to time, filled with thoughts of inevitable woe. My school troubles are nonexistent, as I ended up taking the semester off, and turned out to have done better last semester than I expected I would, putting me in good position to finally start applying myself in the spring. I've taken time to clear my head of grievances with my father, and grown to appreciate him more than I ever thought possible (and I actually managed to let him know that, I think). I've even met new people since the last time I wrote here, both of whom wonderfully balance contradicting and complementing my personality, and whose conversation and friendship I find immensely gratifying.
All in all, the last couple of months have been almost overwhelmingly pleasant. I've got friends, family, financial security, health, direction, and even a tiny bit of ambition. All that, and I still enjoy sad music.
...
And yet...