argh
how did I end up back here? how did I go through a whole year of meeting new people, learning new things, having fun, drinking, smoking, falling in love, being loved, busting my ass and poisoning my body and lighting a goddamn fire in my mind when I needed to, but somehow managing to find all the happiness whose mere existence somewhere out in the world used to give me enough hope to keep going no matter what, only to stumble back into another one of those nights when the entire world seems to be huge and empty and impossibly terrifying and there's not a single goddamn person to talk to right now? I spent three weeks reading and talking about a single book, and it was one of the happiest times in my life, and I don't even want to relive that experience because the happiness seems like it wouldn't be there anymore and I'm frankly amazed that it ever was in the first place. a month ago, I had daydreams about settling into old age and reading long slow-moving books with a bemused smile on my face, and now I don't want to read or write a single word of any language that's ever graced the earth or ever will. and I used to be able to tell myself that once I had that happiness, that it would never go away, that I'd be so grateful to escape from this horrible burning twisting agonizing morass of wasted anger and sadness that I'd never set foot back here again. I knew it wasn't true, of course; knew it with 99% certainty, anyway, but that 1% was enough. and now that I've tasted that happiness, and I've ended up right back here again, and nothing that happened in the interim seems to mean a damn thing, it's that much more horrible. I even know that I'll be happy again, if I can just keep going; but it seems so out of my control, and I have to wonder what the point is if someday that happiness will vanish for no reason and I'll be back here again cursing the day I ever felt like anything was going to turn out okay.
and what the fuck is this even supposed to be
and what the fuck is this even supposed to be