// i’m so tired of feeling worried all of the time. the ups and downs of depression are  getting to me too quickly now, way too quickly. i can handle the swings that take their time, even if they last far too long to be healthy, because that’s what i’ve dealt with for years. this new trend with weekly, sometimes daily Ups and Downs is just burning me the hell out.

// i hardly know what i want anymore. i know that i want to be content. i know that i want to be successful, not in my large-scale goals, but in the small day-to-day things that i often trip up on. i know that i’m lucky. i know that in so many ways i have it really good. i absolutely know and appreciate those things. 

but it still doesn’t stop the less-than-steller things from happening or being present in my life.

// i’m afraid of war and what it could possibly mean for us in this tiny country. anybody could push us around. it’s like i said to S, we’re in a great spot if america ever wants a spot to land when they leapfrog over the atlantic. he thought we’d be safe and fine; i can’t think that way when everything points otherwise to me. just look at the ‘visit’ that happened at shannon not too long ago. sketchy as hell.

// there’s something softer and more comforting about typing in entirely lower case. why am i just catching up on this now?

// every speck of dust that is lifted, every drop of stress that is drained.

// nothing that’s free is worth anything. all of the best things in life are free. which is it to be?

// i understand the rose-tinted view of the past much better with every year that passes. that soft, warm, muzzy feeling of buying pokémon cards at a 7-11 along with a blue-flavoured slushie. taking your beaten-up, second-hand bike out to the trails and the jumps, happy to ride down them but too frightened to try for any air. knowing what it means that the coach keeps you on defense for every match, but being fine with that since soccer isn’t your game of choice anyway. (i enjoyed it all the same.) dry blue skies and harvestmen in the evening air, listening to the frogs. (you never hear frogs here. never hear the fear-comfort sound of trains nearby.)

there’s something that the damp, the  green, the eternal grey overhead that isn’t right. it’s not what you’re looking for. and yet, if you leave, you’ll think of the blasted hills and the unconcerned sheep, the forts and stone circles scattered like crumbs. there’s nothing quite like it anywhere else, and it’s a part of your bones now.

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