Oh! What a Beautiful Morning

There are times when I don't like living in London, particularly not in my dreary middle-class house in the dreary middle-class outskirts of North London, listening to dreary middle-class people argue and set me on edge, but being freshly woken up and stroked by the rays of the sun isn't one of them. The morning is a good time, a pure time; I'm still shaking off my sleep, still snugglingly absorbed in such pleasant things as quadratic equations, multiple dimensions and love. City mornings are beautiful in their own quiet, subdued way, and they're new and fresh. A new day, a new start.

And then...well, then, what can I say? I'd love for that morning feel to continue, to be able to look to the day ahead with the clear eyes of someone who can start afresh. I'd love to be able to take pleasure in the simple joys of the sun shining through the leaves in the back garden, or seeing my cat soak up the warmth with the light shining off her glossy fur. I'd love for that to last all day. I'd love just to feel hopeful again; hope (and emotion in general) is not something I feel properly, and it's not something you appreciate until one day you wake up and you think back to how you used to feel...

...That morning feeling doesn't last. I wish I could claim I'm just saying this out of pessimism - but it's true. Most days something, at some point, will happen to make me feel down - not just miserable, but in tears and considering suicide. Yes, even more so than usual...fuck being ill.

All the same, I'd rather have a day start off good and end up terrible than have a day start off terrible - because that is sometimes what happens. I'll wake up to the soft London light and all of a sudden all of the events of the past couple of years (because these years I've been sick haven't been as easy to get through) will hit me - especially the recent events. Those are the worst. Not even events - thoughts can set them off. The thoughts that utterly break me will come back to me, and they'll floor me. Cue spending the day feeling miserable before I end up admitting to someone how terrible I feel out of honesty and having them cheer me up for some reason (I have really supportive people around me, so thank you). I am sick and tired of looking at beautiful, pure, clean mornings and not having them touch me, simply because I feel too ground down, too corroded through with misery, bitter experience and stupid mistakes, too weepy, too broken, too frankly suicidal to deal with the world and my own foolishness.

...I should really stop whining, shouldn't I?