Ghosts I recently came across a number of my old journals from several years ago (after I moved here) and was rather shocked by the sheer drunken insanity contained within. Don't get me wrong, I remember those days with a clarity I wish I didn't, but looking at some of the ten page entries written at three in the morning after having consumed a half-rack of malt liquor can be somewhat disconcerting. For the most part I am want to wonder what exactly happened to that person from not too long ago. By all accounts my life is going pretty well. I have a lot of things that should be making me as happy as a monkey in a peanut machine. To a certain extent they are, and yet there remains a kernel of sorrow which remains that I am unable to isolate and remove. I can't help but wonder if this is the old part of me hiding out until the heat blows over, all the while planing a vengeful return just to teach me a lesson. I try very much to give it no credence, live as thought that part of my life is gone and ready to be forgotten. I try to pretend that I'm normal like everybody else and it sometimes frightens me. I remember all to well what is was like to see friendships collapse. Watch the hopes I had built up for years decay. See my family go to places that I had never believed possible. When everything fails, I believed, there is no reason to believe that anything but failure is possible. I know in my heart that this is not the case. That the choices I've made are not the choices I have to make for the rest of my life, and yet knowing the truth and letting it guide are two different things. I'm I on the right track though? I wish I knew.
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