happiness is a warm gun?

I have not written much lately, and let’s say I have a strange excuse, 1 I can barely believe myself:

I think I am happy!

It’s a strange feeling, being mostly content.

It is not something that I am used too.

Last night at book club, the girls were laughing at me, when we all lived together in 3rd year, how much of a mess I was. I was addicted to NeoCitron, crying, smoking weed and being super manic, slamming doors and yelling. I don’t think it was that funny, but I guess it’s funny to look back on.

What is not funny is how much better I am. Is it because I am older? Is it because I can think more, breathe more, try to take care of myself more?

Either way, it is great.

And I am happy about my successes. Well, success as much as I can count them. I am even off my meds. I am sleeping better, I don’t feel an overwhelming sense of despair of my life. It’s just life. It’s just a thing. It will keep going, I will keep living.

I keep trying to tell myself, “cause I am so much better than I used to be.” And I guess that’s all you can hope for!



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