This heart of mine, it aches.
Depression or repression of the spirit, the definition of melancholy read.
I focus on the gratitude that I feel for the many things in life. The stuff I know.
The sky so blue. The grass against my back. For accordion players and laughter.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.
Be grateful.
And I despise myself more than I realize. The active voice of hatred I used to have is gone,
but in it's place remains an underlying sabotage of goals and the havens I seek.
The battle is a battle day in and out and moment by moment.
And then comes the gratitude in the mere moments that seem like they must be happiness.
This isn't the place I consciously choose to be, but here I am.
Journeys of healing never seem to be swift and I suppose that holds the purpose.
Because the gratitude I feel is real. So real, that I use it to remember I once knew joy.
Droves of joy.
Have known it. Will know it again, I reassure myself. Maybe yes or no.
But for now, I remain side-by-side with sorrow.
It is now, but I aim not forever.
For whatever can be forever...?
Neither smiles, nor frowns.
Developing the mechanisms to handle the ups as well as the downs.
This moment: the only one I have.
I breathe the air and remember....I am breathing.
