I went for a run and felt a bit better, but my mind’s still locked up like a codeless safe. At least I’m writing again, so why complain?
I thought I saw a ghost at work today–I’ve been experiencing many optical illusions lately. Do you know what it’s like when you see things you want to see?
There are so many lines on my palm, and I wonder if anything exciting will happen. Excitement is good. I want to react more, look forward to things, and be told that I can do it, whatever it is. I’m having a hard time encouraging myself. I don’t believe in what I say anymore. I seem to be a bigger liar than my ex sometimes.
I think I’ve become more conscious than before as if I’m not on prescribed drugs anymore. I think I’ve learnt to control my mind better unless my body has adapted to the drugs? Or maybe I’ve finally learnt how to concentrate. I’d better take this opportunity to read more, not for uni, but myself. Also, I need to learn to drive more carefully. The rest of my life is about learning. I need that. Ever since the meds, I’ve become a crappy learner. My brain’s not functioning well. That’s when you wish you had done more in your childhood rather than sitting tight in the chair, writing love and friendship stories.
Is it going to take a while until life brightens up–brighter than sunshine? Ah, that’s a dream. There are too many unfulfilled dreams. You have to make them happen. Too much effort, eh? But what else is there in life?
I still resent the magician for lying to me. He told us all to ask him a question and send that question to his heart, which I did. Then he told us to close our eyes as he was sending us the answers. And that was when he lied to me. Bastard. It’s childish to believe in magic. Maybe I only sent him that question because it was exciting and because I’m somewhat superstitious. But he lied.
I got nothing more to say. A dirty old man (who I’d probably slept with in my previous life) once said, “These words I write keep me from total madness.”
I feel even better now.