DurAnorak (duranorak) wrote,

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It's my journal, and I'll ramble if I want to.

There was a post. It was vaguely mopey, in a kind of x hasn't happened, y hasn't happened, dammit, kind of way. (I get paranoid when I write to people and they don't write back even after I know they've been online...some of you know what that's like.)

But then I got a phonecall and now I don't care any more.
Three months ago, I lived out four days which changed my life. I think they probably had knock-on effects on a few other people's, too, but really, they shook up my way of thinking about the world, about other people, and most notably about myself. I had to learn things - fast. I had to understand things that I honestly believe nobody else would have been able to understand.
I can't remember four more wonderful days, and to tell the truth I can't remember many more horrific ones either. It was a very strange little interlude in my life.

It led to a situation which remained unchanging for a long time. At the beginning I looked at the timespan and I thought, "I can't do this. It's too long." Then some Really Bad Stuff happened and it took my mind off a lot of it. Eventually I realised that there was no point in being upset at the wait, because I knew that at the end of the wait, nothing, for me, would change. At the most it might shift some friendship dynamics, the ripples of which might rock me a little. But those four days were an island that had sunk beneath the ocean and I knew that even after waiting for what seemed to me to be a long time, I wouldn't get a chance to go near it again.
One sighting of Atlantis, managed to nick a couple of the bottles of wine, and then, splash. [/vague Neverwhere references]

The waiting, not that it felt like waiting any more, was over recently. Just like that. And a small part of me rejoiced, but most of me knew, really, that it wouldn't change anything.

I think I might have been wrong. I think it might.

It seems impossible to believe, and I can't, really, believe that it's not all some joke being played on me by the gods of addictive drugs. If it is, well. If it is, I'm expecting that and I'll deal with it when it hits me. If it is, I've been hurt enough now that it will just be one more thing.

The only thing I know is that I remember feeling beautiful, and wanted, and I remember my mind having to work so hard I could barely keep up, and I remember trust beyond my capacity to comprehend it, and I would give a lot to have that again, and I may not have to.

I feel giddy and bordering on hysterical, so I'm going to put the heating on and listen to some music and try to calm down, or I'll never be able to sleep tonight, and I really need to get home tomorrow.
Sorry this was so long. I needed it though.

I am cared for. I really am. Sometimes, just sometimes, nothing else matters.


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