Too much bad thoughts… must… get… zen…
Some happy news that makes me ungrumpy and disanxious:
MY CAST IS OFF (WAYYYYYY) and I can walk!! Albeit like a zombie, but still- walking! It’s great. Massively underrated. Also, I started to use some colours. Just to give it that ‘amateur’ vibe.
And so, I can once again try working on the part of my brain that just aches to create negative vibes. Often in order to get angry, but sometimes it just does it to stop me from trying to do anything with my life because, hey, what’s the point. Being pretty immobile for the past 7 weeks, having an operation and weird foreign objects being forced into my body, and I guess just the shock of being hit by a car had me pretty down. Oh and the election. Let’s not talk about that.
But I suppose we all have to learn to stop feeling sorry for ourselves and enjoy life, because (as far as we know) you only live once. Besides, there are millions out there who have to deal with worse shit than you (and me, I’m cushty)! Let it gooo, let it gooooo…
It is easier said than done though. I am an extremely anxiety-laden person and, like many of you, or unlike many of you, have frequent bouts of depression. And I have come to the conclusion that the drugs don’t work (Richard Ashcroft said so), and neither does feeling so devastatingly sorry for yourself. You end up in a terrible cycle of negative feelings, and the strain tightens in your chest and you lash out, and then you feel more negative about yourself and then the tight feelings get worse and then you think bad things– oh look a kakapo!
But then you remember that the little green treasures are a critically endangered species and you blame them because they can’t fly anyway so what the fuck are they even doing, but then you feel bad about yourself because it isn’t their fault; they were getting along just fine until we came along and buggered New Zealand up with our big stupid feet and ZEAL FOR DESTRUCTION.
The way to end the predicament is to accept the situation and move on, and if you care about it donate to a conservation charity or whatever, but you can’t do anything unless you raise enough money to fly there and basically devote your life to the adorable little aves, and if you’re like me you don’t have enough money to do that let alone the self-confidence, so why are you even worrying? (Btw, this was an extended metaphor to show how even the slightest distraction can mutate into an evil negative thought– pretty avant garde stuff)
This is obviously a ridiculous example, but in essence it’s more or less the gist of it. So, I
will try promise to be less negative, for myself and for others, and less serious (I think I am that too much sometimes?) and to drink less, because I get mad crazy and it’s not a good look. Incidentally, the fractured ankle has helped loads to drastically lower my alcohol consumption- I’m pretty fockin’ teetotal right now. Oh and less reactive, Christ tonight I need to CALM. DOWN.
Lo, you have reached the end of this soul-searching, enlightening and massively time-consuming endeavour; well done! Congratulate yourselves! Yolo, It was shit. As per, I’m not certain if the above text what I wrote with my fingertips makes much sense, or has a conclusion, or even a hypothesis.
Anyway here’s some mingin’ pictures of my scar (ew!) and broken shit (ew!!) and a whole lot of dead skin (fuck that!!!), Chronologically arranged for your convenience! Shit ma leg looks like Golem’s now, yyyuk!