"Oh well I'm not well again, and once more darkness it descends"
I seem to only write when I'm sad.
Sad or confused. Sad and confused. Confused and upset. Whenever I have something that has been sitting on top of my chest for an extended period of time and needs to filter through my fingeritps.
Why?
Can't I ever write when I'm happy? When I'm not in the process of trying to decipher some unknown feeling that has nestled inside me. Because I'm happy sometimes. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I have good times and enjoy myself, and smile, and I'm mindlessly overjoyed with everything around me.
But it is only when I'm sad when I take to the keyboard and dispel my dark insides, when I feel most compelled to share my rainy days. It makes me sound whiny and pathetic, like some kind of moaning baby that can't hack anything in life, but that's not always case.
It's my therapy in a lot of ways. When I'm down, and dark, angsty, and angry, I feel so intense. It scares me, but I feel more like myself. I feel drawn to the smoky corners, the inward battles, the clawing emotions. I feel it so much I can't contain it all within myself. I feel too much, that I have to dump it all here, on to the vast internet with stranger's eyes occasionally reading, sharing, and perhaps even understanding a little.
I've been trying to be happy, and stay happy, and keep consistent with my level-headed emotions. My life is nothing to be sad about. I can logically look at everything I've accomplished, everything I hope to accomplish, and everyone who surrounds me and knowingly say, "they make me happy. I have a good life."
And yet.
And yet.
The darkness still finds me.