My request last year was basically for you to leave me be and let me live my life. I’ve done about as well at that as both of us could have expected, I suppose. Not great, but not a complete mission failure either.
I’m feeling as bad as I’ve felt in a very long time, and while it normally wouldn’t bother or phase me, I suppose I’m just tired of it. I want year 34 to be the year I don’t need medications to sleep through the night and wake rested, or to keep the voices or the gaping chasm of depression at bay. But if it were going to happen, it would have happened by now, right?
Life is not a complete wreck. I continue to keep my head down while throwing my arms up when the moment calls for it. I don’t want to say I’m feeling optimistic about anything, because the truth is I’m probably reading more into situations than is called for, and not reading enough into others.
I’m in a bad spot, Powers. I’d ask you for help but I can’t even stomach the thought without my throat closing up. I guess I’ll just say give me a moment, every once in awhile, to pull myself back up and to dust the blood off my knuckles. You think maybe you could manage that? Happy birthday to me.