You know, I have it pretty good. But I still can't shake the lingering bitterness that casts a cynical tint on all my interactions. This is my fight, my demon to struggle with.
I think what I'm starting to realize is that when I get what I asked for, I find myself all alone. And when I have no one else to run to, when I have no one left to point fingers at, all I'm left with is...me.
The funny thing about being alone is that one can't escape oneself. People who spend time in solitude either drive themselves mad or they emerge enlightened (deceived?) by some sort of spiritual truth.
I think I am starting to hate myself for my weaknesses.
But these are all just extraneous details. I am thankful for somebody who cares enough to mourn what has been lost, when all I can feel is begrudged malice.