For no rhyme or reason I'm in a funk. I know how it started, I just don't know how to end it.
There are these new friends of ours and we're in the "getting to know" stages of this friendship and what not. The husband of the couple is more often then not the one who takes his daughter to karate, and I'm usually the one who takes Kyra to karate. So we talk. Twice a week for a half hour.
Okay, well, it's more like he asks questions and I answer because if he didn't ask I wouldn't talk.
Damn shyness thing.
ANYWAY. So he's asking all the normal questions:
Where you from? The south.
What do you do? I stay at home.
Where's your family? Various points below the Mason Dixon Line.
What are your parents like? My mother is a recovering psycho. She's good now, though. Medication works wonders.
Your father? He's a dusch.
How many siblings do you have? Four. Two whole, two half.
What's the genders? One older brother, one younger sister, two smaller brothers.
How do you get along with them? The older one still likes to pick on me to the point of putting me in tears if he ever gets within 5 feet of me. But that doesn't happen all that often so, ya know. The sister is great. She was my best friend once. And then her husband got in the way of life. I miss her. A lot. The two little brothers, I really don't keep up with them like I should. But they're good kids.
How's the in-laws? The parents are fantastic. Good, good people. The sister dislikes me with the fiery spirit of 1,000 dragons hell bent on destroying the fair maiden who, apparently, totally tricked the kingdom's prince into running away with her and then blindsided him into marriage. The brother doesn't say much. Works for me. I never know what to say, anyway.
All questions for which I have the complete and utter inability to lie about, to anyone, when asked.
So he asked, I answered, I then I went home and sulked at how pitiful my life sounds even though I know that my life isn't pitiful and doesn't suck.
None the less, this has sent me searching through some of my old stuff from the end of my high school/first couple years of college stuff- a time that was very dark for me. I'm not sure why I'm looking into the past. I have been fine and dandy with repressing such thoughts and images. There was probably a reason I had all this stuff shoved into a couple shoe boxes and buried at the bottom of a Rubbermaid container.
But here I am, wondering what went wrong back then and why I'm still harboring those same feelings when I look back on the past.
I'm not the person I was in high school. I've gained confidence.
I'm not the same person I was in college. I've learned to not just be independent, but to also depend on others.
I'm happy. I'm optimistic. And, most of all, I love the life I have now.
So why is it when I look back on what was, that hole in my chest opens back up and sucks the life out of me? Its like I can't wrap my arms tight enough around my chest to hold myself together.
I don't know.
I'm not sure what's going on in my head.
It's late. I'm tired. And tomorrow I need to focus more on my life now and not my life then. Because, lets face it, depression isn't a good hue on anyone.
I found this quote I wrote down during those troubled times back then. It seems appropriate.
One day, in retrospect, the years of struggle will strike you as the most beautiful.
- Sigmund Freud