I've been in a bit of an odd mood the past couple of days and for some reason I can't quite put my finger on why. As a result of this I've spent the last 48 hours in my room with thoughts whirling through my head and I've gotten no further forward on putting myself right so to speak. Until I spent all night re-reading "Running With Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs. There is one paragraph in it that has summed everything up for me. In an odd kind of way.
"For exactly the same reason, it is sometimes satisfying to cut yourself and bleed. On those gray days where eight in the morning looks no different from noon and nothing has happened and nothing is going to happen and you are washing a glass in the sink and it breaks - accidentally - and punctures your skin. And then there is this shocking red, the brightest thing in the day, so vibrant it buzzes, this blood of yours. That is okay sometimes because at least you know you're alive."