Or perhaps, Harold Kushner, it is the price we pay for being happy. Perhaps the two are the same. Lately it feels as though all the things in my life have the power to make me both happy and unhappy in equal measures. Double-edged swords, all of them, and you can only cut with one as deep as you're willing to bleed for the other. Given everything that's happened in the past six months, I'm afraid I'm becoming a bit jaded. I can no longer stop myself wondering, in the middle of being absurdly, wonderfully happy, just what it's going to cost me later. Because it always does, and the cost is always so much higher than I anticipated. The highest of highs are followed by the lowest of lows, a roller coaster track that has no end, and I either want to laugh or cry, both rather hysterically and often in the same time frame. I feel like I've lost most of my middle ground, and that this can't possibly be healthy.
The truth is, though, that I've forgotten how to function any other way. Last term was a hard experience in growing up, but I have to question whether it's actually made me a better person. On the one hand, it turns out that I'm much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. If there's one thing I learned last year, it's that you'd be surprised who you can live without, and it's a bit of a relief to know what I'm capable of handling. It's not easy, of course, but that isn't the same thing as coping. It didn't break me, even though it felt at the time like it would, and I'm still occasionally surprised by the lack of fear with which I now regard things that used to terrify me. Spiders, the dark, getting lost, talking to people, even the future. What are those things, really, compared to the things, the people, that I could lose? Those are the truly frightening things. Everything else just seems a bit silly. On the other hand, it's no longer a comfortable place to be inside my head. I used to be able to put up with myself alone for days, but it's no longer possible. Even the weekends are rough if I find myself stuck at home with nowhere to go. Sitting still gives me too much time to think, and over-thinking has suddenly become dangerous. I can't spend too much time in there without hitting an inevitable breakdown. Not that they won't catch up to me now and then anyway, but sadness is always much closer to the surface these days, and any length of contemplation is like inviting in the darkness. At this point, I'm not sure which I'd rather have-- my courage, or my peace of mind.