My last post kind of illustrates my earlier thesis: there’s not a lot of point writing about that part of my personal life because it’s preaching to the choir of those who identify and remains inexplicable to those who don’t. What I was describing in that last post was simply how it is. That it’s simultaneously worse than many people can understand– particularly those who’ve never suffered from that kind of illness– and mundane to those that do.
It’s been this way since high school– long before marriages, the demise of both marriages, and children. The strange thing is that it ceases being new and you learn to live with it, but at the same time it never seems to get easier as by all rights it should.
I do wonder who the former friend is and why they don’t just drop a line. I won’t bite… and I’m always interested where my former friends have gotten to.
i sorta accidentally-on-purpose stumbled upon this post. There is a dark pleasure in embracing the gut-wrenching moments in life. They have their own addictive melancholy sweetness of rotting fruit. They are in stark contrast against the monotonous backdrop of each dragging succession of tasks and sleep. Reminders that somewhere out on the horizon is at least one last great regret – hopefully.
[...] Zhanna, whoever he or she is, has wise words. Not only “dark pleasures” but sometimes it’s just better to feel anything rather than nothing and numbness. [...]
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