Budgie’s Journal #118 – Those We Drag
Pardon me if I’m not my cheerful self as usual. I’ve hit a few bumps in the road of life, and it fucked up my shocks. I’ve spent the time since my holiday break taking a mental inventory of what’s left of my sanity, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of the mess I found.
On the bright side, the dark and brooding fuels my writing. But it taints everyone around me, working through me like an aura of shit. I think I can finally fully understand why people say “misery loves company” and other cliches. I don’t think I can be happy unless I’m miserable, and it drags those around me into my funk.
But I’m not a depressed person. I don’t think I am anyway. I can function, work, write, take care of my chores, etcetera. I’m not contemplating ways to end my life or having fantasies about the end of days. That’s why I work in fiction. I can just make my characters do that stuff.
Those last two lines were a joke, by the way.
Maybe I cope with real life with misery, my own and the fictional misery I create. Sure, I’ve written my share of happy endings; and I hope to have my own at some point. But nothing really ends until the blackness wins. Everything else is just a branch or a side story or a continuation.
I’m a reflection of what I write; life imitates that which it creates.
She existed vividly in my world, but I made her question that existence. What’s that say about me?
My world fades, but the light stays bright.