And consequently my mind is wandering, as it does. You'll no doubt have noticed it wandering less, my ramblings here less often reflect a quietening of my mind. Life is good right now. I'm learning the mechanics of physiology, the chemistry that causes anxiety to become unruly, for inattentivity to become deficit, for a preoccupation to become all consuming. And as I learn these things, I'm applying these things. And my mind is peaceful. I am not consumed by my passions, nor my anxiety. I no longer predominantly exist at the extremes of emotion, but spend most of my time in the middle. The place where you can reach the highs and the lows, but they do not drown you.
But my wandering mind wanders tonight. I wander to those I've loved, and to those I have not, those who have loved me, and those who have not. I recall physical moments where intimacy, and insurmountable gulfs, become more evident. I remember how the slightest touch can make you feel more joy than you thought possible. I remember the unrest, the conflict of sensing a change, feeling a removal of emotion denied by reassuring words. I remember how words say so little, and how the sting of unwanted touch says so much, whichever side it's on.
I remember all of this, and I remember how much less stressful my quiet existence is, than the one I inhabited before. The washing up was done marginally more frequently, but I can't say it could ever have been worth the discord in the house, the mutual flinch when one accidentally touched the other. I'm tired, and my revision is going extremely badly. But I can manage this.
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