after reading so many years' entries of the same cycles - grief-stricken despair, self-isolation and depression to optimism and joy - that maybe i am exactly like my mother after all. there is rationality in everything i do, but when i go through periods like i have in the past few months, when all i want to do is stay in bed and hide, i wonder if there isn't something bigger going on.
because these past few weeks have been so darn... wonderful.
or is it just that my self-esteem causes me to knock myself down and make up excuses any time i begin to feel like a real person again? and that my periods of depression and sadness are justified by coming to terms with being motherless and powerless to help her?
there is a happiness in my life right now that i don't want to lose, and knowing myself as well as i do, i will either talk myself out of this or figure out a way to fuck it up. better yet, my mother will fuck it up with a well-timed letter, police visit, or other annoyance to bring me down again.
it's never-ending.
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