I've made myself a latté with four espresso shots. The foam is perfect this time. Even if my coffee has been tainted with milk, I'm finding a way to enjoy it. I should be studying for a Chemistry test I have tomorrow, but instead, I'm going to write and try to forget stress and pressure and these other things that constantly dominate my thought processes. The past two weeks have been wonderful in my personal life, even as I watch my dreams of a good GPA and being a real scientist seemingly crumble around me.
It's strange to have a boy (man?) in my life like this. I'm very much unaccustomed to it, and I spend a lot of time trying not to dwell on the future and what will happen and trying to focus on right now. I want to be there when he touches me, and when he kisses me and when I listen to his voice soothing the lurking spectre of my depression. Keeping myself present is a challenge. My mind has a tendency to wander off, and she gets lost easily and terrified. There are places my mind has wandered that I would like not to find myself in again.
So as I rest my head against his and feel his fingers tracing the outline of my lips, I try to anchor myself in moments. But anchoring yourself is risky. I'm not very fond of taking emotional risks, although I do it frequently. I have convinced myself that being present makes me free. And it does.
For a couple weeks I didn't have a single bad thought. Depression's sickle was kept at bay by this weird sort of happiness that didn't even have a manic, artificial tint to it. I've rarely had days in a row like that this past year and having weeks unnerved me. I tried to do what I always do, and tried to push my mind into remembering negative things that have kept me distant from men physically and emotionally. I tried very hard to remember anything and I ended up writing a good bye letter to the first boy I ever really loved unconditionally.
I don't know what that means. Maybe I'm growing up? Maybe I'm getting better? Perhaps I am freeing myself from my mental handicap. I've used the word freedom a lot. I think that's what happiness is. Or at least freedom is a huge part of happiness. I can feel vulnerable and naked and stressed and sad and happy and affectionate without really worrying about the aftermath. Balanced happiness is freedom.
This weekend I got quiet, and irritatingly introspective because I was scared that this boy's presence in my life was the only thing contributing to my recent happiness. This is obviously ridiculous, but the concept terrified me. I remember being the person whose happiness was tied to how someone else thought about them. I also remember how totally invalidated I felt when I no longer had this approval. However, I need to give myself credit for being different now. I've done a lot to get myself to this place. I shouldn't have to feel guilty because I am happy. And I won't feel guilty.
How did this happen?
I would never ask this question unprovoked; but I've had it whispered in my ear inopportunely enough times to have it sort of sit there festering, waiting for me to come up with some half-assed heat-of-the-moment answer. I refuse to give impulse the dignity of getting to the question however. I've chosen to secretly mull it over, maybe one of the times I've avoided eye contact and bit my lip, unresponsive for a few seconds or maybe another time when I've been alone for too long.
I don't know if I have a good answer. I suppose there is no right answer. But I really do think "how" isn't important. Maybe I needed this. Maybe you needed this. Maybe we both need each other a little bit. It's okay to be needed and to be wanted without questioning it. It has to be alright to feel random bursts of happiness that are totally unexpected.
Sometimes I think back to when I first noticed this boy. I really liked a friend of mine at the time (completely unattainable physically and emotionally). I had no idea who this boy was, but he always looked at me as I walked into the dining hall, almost like he wanted to say something but either didn't know how or was too scared. (Alternatively, maybe I had fabricated all of this up in my egotistical head). He introduced himself to me one day, and I was amused in sort of a condescending way. People typically find me too unfriendly looking to approach so I suppose I ultimately appreciated it. I remember that I'd been having a bad day, and I was stressed about a number of things and I felt like I was a failure of a pre-med student and failure of a girl. After that one time, he never really spoke to me again for the rest of the year, so I guess I sort of went back to living my life in the throes of a major depressive episode. This one deviation from the norm of my depression felt good though.
It's strange when we meet people, the things we remember about meeting them or interacting with them. I don't think last spring I could have predicted anything that has happened thus far this semester. I don't think I could have predicted that this anomaly of a person would have been more than a random encounter to me. I think that I can tell a lot about a person from the first time I notice them. And so far I don't think that I've been wrong. I'm hoping that happiness doesn't betray me this time; she has occasionally been a fickle mistress. If I was the praying sort, I would pray for my mind to be peaceful and for me to really appreciate this boy. I'm still not sure if I deserve how I feel right now; but operating under the assumption that I do deserve this, I hope it doesn't go away anytime soon.
I don't know if I totally trust happiness, but I do like it.
It's strange to have a boy (man?) in my life like this. I'm very much unaccustomed to it, and I spend a lot of time trying not to dwell on the future and what will happen and trying to focus on right now. I want to be there when he touches me, and when he kisses me and when I listen to his voice soothing the lurking spectre of my depression. Keeping myself present is a challenge. My mind has a tendency to wander off, and she gets lost easily and terrified. There are places my mind has wandered that I would like not to find myself in again.
So as I rest my head against his and feel his fingers tracing the outline of my lips, I try to anchor myself in moments. But anchoring yourself is risky. I'm not very fond of taking emotional risks, although I do it frequently. I have convinced myself that being present makes me free. And it does.
For a couple weeks I didn't have a single bad thought. Depression's sickle was kept at bay by this weird sort of happiness that didn't even have a manic, artificial tint to it. I've rarely had days in a row like that this past year and having weeks unnerved me. I tried to do what I always do, and tried to push my mind into remembering negative things that have kept me distant from men physically and emotionally. I tried very hard to remember anything and I ended up writing a good bye letter to the first boy I ever really loved unconditionally.
I don't know what that means. Maybe I'm growing up? Maybe I'm getting better? Perhaps I am freeing myself from my mental handicap. I've used the word freedom a lot. I think that's what happiness is. Or at least freedom is a huge part of happiness. I can feel vulnerable and naked and stressed and sad and happy and affectionate without really worrying about the aftermath. Balanced happiness is freedom.
This weekend I got quiet, and irritatingly introspective because I was scared that this boy's presence in my life was the only thing contributing to my recent happiness. This is obviously ridiculous, but the concept terrified me. I remember being the person whose happiness was tied to how someone else thought about them. I also remember how totally invalidated I felt when I no longer had this approval. However, I need to give myself credit for being different now. I've done a lot to get myself to this place. I shouldn't have to feel guilty because I am happy. And I won't feel guilty.
How did this happen?
I would never ask this question unprovoked; but I've had it whispered in my ear inopportunely enough times to have it sort of sit there festering, waiting for me to come up with some half-assed heat-of-the-moment answer. I refuse to give impulse the dignity of getting to the question however. I've chosen to secretly mull it over, maybe one of the times I've avoided eye contact and bit my lip, unresponsive for a few seconds or maybe another time when I've been alone for too long.
I don't know if I have a good answer. I suppose there is no right answer. But I really do think "how" isn't important. Maybe I needed this. Maybe you needed this. Maybe we both need each other a little bit. It's okay to be needed and to be wanted without questioning it. It has to be alright to feel random bursts of happiness that are totally unexpected.
Sometimes I think back to when I first noticed this boy. I really liked a friend of mine at the time (completely unattainable physically and emotionally). I had no idea who this boy was, but he always looked at me as I walked into the dining hall, almost like he wanted to say something but either didn't know how or was too scared. (Alternatively, maybe I had fabricated all of this up in my egotistical head). He introduced himself to me one day, and I was amused in sort of a condescending way. People typically find me too unfriendly looking to approach so I suppose I ultimately appreciated it. I remember that I'd been having a bad day, and I was stressed about a number of things and I felt like I was a failure of a pre-med student and failure of a girl. After that one time, he never really spoke to me again for the rest of the year, so I guess I sort of went back to living my life in the throes of a major depressive episode. This one deviation from the norm of my depression felt good though.
It's strange when we meet people, the things we remember about meeting them or interacting with them. I don't think last spring I could have predicted anything that has happened thus far this semester. I don't think I could have predicted that this anomaly of a person would have been more than a random encounter to me. I think that I can tell a lot about a person from the first time I notice them. And so far I don't think that I've been wrong. I'm hoping that happiness doesn't betray me this time; she has occasionally been a fickle mistress. If I was the praying sort, I would pray for my mind to be peaceful and for me to really appreciate this boy. I'm still not sure if I deserve how I feel right now; but operating under the assumption that I do deserve this, I hope it doesn't go away anytime soon.
I don't know if I totally trust happiness, but I do like it.
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