the lows

oh.

the life of it. will the ocean metaphors ever get tiring? only if those waves stop feeling so choppy. i know there are things i could be doing to help myself feel more even-keel. when i don't, i just end up feeling further victim to the choppy weather.

it's odd, how the fierceness of the depression has nothing to do with how happy i am otherwise. because i am happy. except for the bits where i don't do myself justice. and they're still in me, those impulses to choke myself away from light and love. and maybe we all have them, but. and i survive each time, but. and i know i love myself, but. and i am learning to blah blah blah.

is this because i don't accept some deep imperfect part of me? is it the way i was raised? is there some hidden desire to be loved that will just keep crying for help? is it a chemical unbalance? is it a predisposition, and i keep walking the ruts?

i notice that i feel better faster when i use my body as a key to health. yet... the mind is predictably reluctant. is this the result of generations of hating matter, earth, darkness? or is it just fear left over from a stupid gym class?

don't mind the dragon; she pulls the sun across the horizon. (no no, i'd rather sell my happiness to the guy who says he knows how to do it the easy way. the chump inside my mind who tells me what i can and cannot have.)

sigh. another day, another set of arguments. i need to go underneath the words, listen to what's hiding behind the message, what's holding my jaw. i want to sing this out. but my voice feels unheard.