The moment I realized that being with someone isn't going to cure or solve or fix my head was the moment I knew not to regret ever letting anybody go. It was the moment I stopped pressuring myself to "find" someone. It was the moment I stopped feeling sorry for myself. I feel better than I did a year ago. Two years ago. I feel better because I'm smitten at the thought of myself. I figure if loving someone is going to fail me, and if having been loved wasn't enough, at least I glorify myself enough to stick both my middle fingers up and nod along carelessly to anybody's dull standards. The inner mechanisms of a manic depressive, hey.
Jesus fuck, I'm relieved that all that pain was worth it. Jesus fuck, I'll be as narcissistic as I want to be and never apologize for it. Jesus fuck, if I ever decide to step down my own pedestal to put someone else there instead, I'll bet all I have that she'll be prime as fuck. Or he. I'm mercurial enough for that.
