My roommate and co-monk offered a sort of meditative task for the full moon this evening:
Read through your journal entries from the last full moon, then the one three months before that, six months before that, a year and so on.
And because I have had this here diary since 2002, I went way back with it.
My entries from last month, three months back, and a year ago, all mention how I wish I was dead in some way.
Almost every entry I read confessed to some sort of severe depression.
All of my problems seem like the same problems.
I feel like I have grown, I know I have.
But it's like a forest has grown around this giant hole.
No matter how big the trees get, the hole remains.
Will I ever change?
Will I ever be at peace?
8:23 p.m. - 2019-07-16
Recent entries:
Got that 2020 vision (everyone is allowed to make that joke once this year) - 2020-01-13
Still? Still. - 2019-11-30
The Time Traveler. - 2019-10-05
updatey ramble - 2019-09-02
You Pray to Die (But god Doesn't Answer Prayer) - 2019-08-09
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