Over the last 12 months give or take, posting in here hasn't really been
a major priority of mine. Ironically, the lack of posts haven't been
due to an event less life. At least, not more eventless than usual.
It's due to the fact that so much weird shit has happened over the
last year, that I've been in a material overload.
OK, so things have been up and down hectic-wise. I mean, it's not as if
I've been so overloaded with stuff everyday that I've just thought:
omg, I can't go on. But what I mean is, I've had plenty of moments,
where I've thought: yeah OK, this would do nice for a post. But I
just haven't been inspired enough I guess. Or rather, at the moment I
thought about it, I wasn't able to type it out, and so when I finally
did sit down in front of a computer, I just couldn't think of
anything clever... or even amusing to write. So I just figured I'd do
it another time. And we all know how that goes.
So when an old friend of mine asked me why I didn't write anything
anymore, and went on to claim she visited almost daily back in the
days, I sort of got to thinking. She isn't the only one who's been
asking me to consider writing stuff again. But she is one I don't see
more than once or perhaps twice a year, so she made an impact. She
really just voiced my bad consciousness, as I do really want to
write. It's very therapeutic for me writing these posts. I get my
thoughts and feelings out of my head an into a form where I can
review them and spend time considering them without losing my train
of thought. And with a scatterbrain like mine, that's worth a lot.
The last year has had a lot of things in store for me and my life. I'm
still on medication, of course. Rising steadily. My psychiatrist says
I won't have doubts as to when the change from the meds will hit me.
I'll admit, I'm unsure if they've changed anything for me at all yet.
I mean, generally I feel well and fine. But you know, I guess I'd
like to feel better. I don't think my personality has altered
remarkably. I'm still pretty much me. So I guess I'll just let him
control the amount of meds, and hope I'll feel it when it hits me.
But on the overall, I'm pretty good at the moment. Considering
scraping together enough money to start therapy sessions with proper
psychologists. Cognitive Therapy should be the bomb these days, and
I've heard good things about it from two of my closest friends.
Together with meds, it might do me a lot of good.
Then there was the whole thing with my mom breaking up with her husband
(ok they weren't married, but 'boyfriend' really sounds stupid when
talking about your parents), through 12 years. And of course, that
coincided with me moving into the new-old apartment and... you know.
It was quite confusing and such. Didn't doubt it'd work out in the
end, but when a lot of stuff happens at once, it can't help but
occupy quite a bit of your mental capacity. It was for the best,
however, and we came out on top in the end. And that's what matters.
Just had the whole apartment, but a few rooms, painted white, and it
needed it badly. Everything looks fucking amazing now, crispy white
as snow. Of course I managed to chip off a flake of paint from a
door-frame like the day after the dude had finished. But fuck it.
Stuff like that is almost supposed to happen. It is to me anyway,
so.. I guess I sort of expected it.
I can now start moving things into place, and have the place how I like
it soon. And that means, for the first time in... well, forever
really, a place that's just mine, and that looks like I want it to,
with what I put in there. Basically, my first ever true home. It's
something that brings a great deal of peace to my soul, as I've been
sort of a nomad for many years. And while things have been alright on
the overall, living with people, however cool and friendly, just
isn't the same as having your own place.
