| Edit: Xanga ate my first freaking post, and I don't have the gumption to recreate the typical heartfelt, sincere, pysco-babble line of bull crap that I am known for. But here is a shot at it anyway.
A day or two has past since my last rant...did it help? It doesn't seem to have. Now I find myself taking the opposite road, and writing, which I wasn't quite ready to do. For personal reasons, I feel as though when I write every day, and I go back to re-read them. I think to myself, what an emotional mess I am. There doesn't seem to be any direction with any thoughts. And even worse, leads me to feeling even more depressed and without focus. As a result, I cut back on my journal, taking more days in-between, in an attempt to organize and clarify, and not feel so inconsistently scattered in thought and words. It has yet to be successful.
I cannot pinpoint the exact day or time that it happened, but within the last week, the lost has been found. I am no longer void of a part of my past. This would seem to be something that I would be excited, or at least relieved about. But with the anarchy of the past feelings of disconnection and loneliness, now add the concept of living two lives. I know and remember all that I have felt in the past month, the loneliness, the feelings of loss, the chaos that existed in my thoughts, but I cannot fathom why. It is as if, now, I have memory loss of having lost my memory. I have no concept of how I lived with no clue of what part of my past was. It is as if it was never gone, but the emotional turmoil suffered from the loss, is still very real. It is incomprehendable to me.
And once again, there in lies the issue at hand, that for the moment, I need to stop trying to understand it, and just let it be.
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