Trying to find what to write here next is causing me a great deal of stress.
I miss this place. I miss the freedom it gives me. It is a place that is mine. The (very few) readers come here on my terms. There is no other place on Earth that affords me such an opportunity. But, what the hell do I say?
I am still struggling. I am still in the grip of paralysing depression. I still miss my former life everyday. It continues to be my first thought when I wake up in the morning, and my last thought when I go to bed at night. Time does not heal.
I have recently returned to study. The zeal I had for it has yet to return. I am currently doing it because my leave has run out and I have no choice. I better get moving because I have only got two years left before the maximum deadline. I MUST finish this PhD otherwise the past decade or more will have been wasted. The only fear I have now is one of unfulfilled potential. If I am going to stick it out I have to do it right. Nobody else places this pressure on me. It is self inflicted.
The social side of things is far more complicated. In an occurrence that probably has not happened since 1992 I went out twice in two nights last weekend. I liked the company and caught up with most of the people I have been wanting to see since the shit hit the fan. Social situations prove tricky business because on most occasions they terrify me and I would much rather be here in the dark, alone. Yet I find the thing I miss the most is the intimacy of life. I miss having a best friend. I find myself wishing I could cut through the inane bullshit and get to the important stuff. I hate my contradictions. There are far too many. I make life too hard for myself.
The past year has been a war. I have returned a wounded soldier with lifelong scars, my life forever altered. So much has been repressed. I have seen both the joyful and the ugly side of life. I am trying to move past it all and yet I am still fermenting in my own pain. An innocent trigger sets it off. It is like the pain of guilt except there is no release like when the truth comes out. It is just there lodged in my chest, probably forever.
And yet I must go on searching for freedom and intimacy that I do not have, which I doubt will ever be achieved.