Part Seven.

"I'll learn to get by on the little victories." For some reason, it's harder to do than it sounds. And for some reason, that surprises me.

The rain pours from the sky, beating down on the window. I'm thankful that I'm sick today and need to stay inside.

I've done all I can for now. Everything is in the open. I just wish I had more to say.

A dark sky was an unsettling sight in the middle of the day—the grey clouds throwing drop after drop atop the surface—but I feel protected within these walls. In here, I can heal. I can stay for as long as I need so as to gather the last scraps of courage before I head out into the world.

I've been thinking about courage lately and how its affected me. It's strange to think that I can sink to such a dark place and still manage to climb out of it. Perhaps I'm more courageous than I thought ... or perhaps I simply lack the understanding needed to see how foolish I am. On the surface that sounds like a bad thing, but I don't believe it falls into that category this time.

I see a car slosh through a particularly large puddle. Water flies up onto the sidewalk.

Doing something different can be beneficial. It doesn't have to be done all the time, though—sometimes you can do something different by not doing something different. Of course, by doing that you would be doing something different, which would go against the desire to do nothing different. It's a conundrum.

A citizen enters my view. She is on the sidewalk. A large gust of wind tugs her umbrella backward and she awkwardly stumbles. Looking around to make sure nobody saw, she continued.

There is a message here, though. By doing something different, you can expand yourself into territory you had no idea you wanted to occupy, achievements you had no idea you could attain, and activities you had no idea you could enjoy. It's kind of amazing how blind we are unless we experience everything—and I mean everything—that life has to offer. The problems is that there aren't enough years available to us to see everything. You could rush through it all, of course, mindlessly checking things off your bucket list and never fully taking it in. But by doing that you're missing the point entirely.

I portion purple liquid onto a spoon and swallow it—then do it again. The taste is horrendous, so I eat a slice of bread afterwards. Outside, the sky brightens, but rain continues to beat the window like a drum.

I guess I'm going through with this because it's something different. Confidence is an item in short supply in my shop; occasionally shipped in from third parties, but never in stock very long. No matter the outcome, this will definitely alter how I view things from now on.

"And if the world decides to catch up with me, it's a little victory."

Part Six.

I find myself upheaving rock after rock, hoping to find something valuable underneath. Some long lost wisdom I once discarded. So far, nothing.

It's another day, which means another walk home from work. The sun is still bright and there are no clouds to stop the rays from touching the earth.

Is it wrong to want more? On the other hand, is it wrong to want less? In this case, sabotaging myself would be foolish. I asked myself what the point of fighting a losing battle was—and it turns out the answer was pretty obvious. You give it your all so you don't have to ask 'what if' later on.

If you go down, you go down swingin'.

Part Five.

For a time I began to wonder what I really wanted. Today I have my answer.

Yesterday: I walked along the trail, between trees and nature. My heart sank further as I attempted a recovery of the situation. A picking up of the pieces, if you will.

Today: The nervousness sets in, and perhaps that's a good thing. It kind of feels that way.

Yesterday: I didn't feel the cold as I walked. I could not bear to glance at a couple holding hands. The thought, simply, crushed me.

Today: I was going to come visit you but decided against it. A part of me says I made the right choice. Another argues that it would have been a caring and welcome gesture. For once, I agree with the first voice.

Yesterday: I sat outside at a table. The pond was shallow and for some reason that surprised me. I guess I thought of things as always being full. I left not too long after. I couldn't take the lack of attention, and given the opportunity to do it over, I would have done things differently.

Today: I am cautiously optimistic about the future now that the words I needed to say have finally been said.

Yesterday: I had reached the end of my rope... again. Looking over the park at the grass coming back to life and the children on swings, the path weaving through it all, I wondered how many times I needed to visit this place before I no longer needed it. How many times I needed to feel sad before I could truly be happy. With my vision blurred I aborted the direction I was walking toward.

Today: My biggest concern is a lack of interaction with her. All things considered, I could have been much worse.

Yesterday: I sat at home, wondering which piece I would try to fit together next.

Today: I sit at home, wondering what video game or graphic novel I would engross myself in next.

Yesterday: The end was nigh.

Today: The end is nigh. But sometimes that's a good thing.