Sometimes you choose what it is that you want to do. Sometimes what you do chooses you. Sometimes you don’t sleep right. Sometimes you pace around battling three hour long panic attacks trying to calm yourself down. You talk to yourself in that little voice of yours, cracking jokes, making it seem silly. Everything gets blurry and eventually your hands stop wringing because they hurt, you’ve just noticed. You collapse onto the couch and sit there, inhaling and exhaling. The most primary of functions. And then you fall asleep. Tomorrow night you get to do it all over again. The funny thing is, you don’t know why it happens. You’ve never been able to figure that out. It just does. And it continues to. From your childhood, when you used to sleep walk and then start screaming so uncontrollably that they put you on medication, to yesterday which was just another link in the chain. The night brings you things to say that are all part of a big inside joke, your destruction, your creation, the people that fit together inside you like a puzzle to make up your memory. It’s the day to day business of making sure that there’s a mess to clean up and then another mess to take it’s place. So you come to like it. It begins to make sense. Maybe it always did. And from that comes all that defines you in a deal-with-the-devil package. Maybe not so good. Maybe good enough to be passable. Years later you can’t remember when you had a choice in the matter. You just do. And are.

~The Art Of Being

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