Reviving this, pouring a little brandy on its cold corpse because I’ve got some misery to work through.
I’ve taken to having a drink after work now. I’ve never really done this before, even under the strain of studying law. In those days it would be with the mirth of friendship and camaraderie. This–the stilling of needling buzzing in my mind–is something I’m not used to.
It’s a sign, but one that’s not easy to walk away from. I drink to forget I’m here, and for the most part it’s working. Just hope that I don’t end up drinking to get away from here.
If this is success—or even a small taste of it—then why am I not happy?
It’s three in the morning and I need to shout into a void.
I know real life is upon us once again when I start waking up in the middle of the night.
It’s me and the silence again tonight.
There used to be a time when this silence meant the gaping void between pain and peace. Chaos, confusion, and clarity. Powerful bastards doing a number on the soul, striking and stabbing with shanks that made each breath sharp and cold.
Now there’s just silence. I’m not sure if this is the peace I so crave in the throes of deadlines and pressure and the dirty cacophony of city life. I’m not even sure I could call it longing. It just is.
For the life of me, I still can’t tell if I need it, or if I should just let it slip.
Because Christmas as a functioning adult just hasn’t felt the same. (Yet.)