Running from the dark place

I watch Grey's Anatomy. Almost religiously. Mostly, because I love the Meredith-Christina-relationship and their way of communicating. They use this analogy when they're feeling a certain way that's difficult to put in other words: "I'm in the dark place."
In the time since my last post, that's where I was. Hard to explain how it feels. Makes me look for answers to unaskable questions. Needless to say, this time around, I didn't find any, either. I did, however, find confirmation: things change and sometimes, when you see what they've become, you regret that change happened. Goes for people, too. Sometimes it's circumstantial, sometimes it just appears to be the natural flow of life. Circumstances can be changed. Not always, but often. I believe we must try. I believe, that's all there is. (That's why I cry every time I hear Nelly Furtado's Try.) What annoys me, however, is that the trying never ceases. And I know I'm rightfully annoyed. Ugh, self-righteousness is so unattractive, I know. So what though? I earned it. Battle scars. They ain't pretty but at one point or another, covering everything up pretty got real tiresome.
Anyway.
So I'm running from the dark place. I feel it lurking all around me, creeping in when I don't keep the defenses up but I'm trying to think suggestively positive.

Moping.

My sick leave from work has taken well over 8 weeks and there's no difference to how I'm feeling. So I been moping. Or maybe not moping so much as generally being very, very atrabilious (nice word, huh? I like nice words. Like like-like). Anyway. I'm straight out evil and highly flammable. I seriously need to learn how to spit fire, that would make for awesome special effects.

Having jumped off of death's shovel - or whatever the correct english phrase for having escaped death may be - once or twice, I know life is a gift. Not in the stereotypical, esoteric we-are-all-part-of-one-happy-colorfl-equation-and-must-cherish-what-mother-earth-gives-us kinda way one hears so often, but physically. My body reminds my every day that there is a piece of it missing, but only a piece of it. It's still running, kicking, breathing. But because my body and I, respectively, are only missing a piece instead of being dead, we're lucky. I'm lucky. Thankyaverymuch.
Being a good person means, besides other things, knowing that acting ungratefully is just as wrong as being ungrateful. Which is where the guilt and the guilty conscience come in. I'm miserable and even more miserable for feeling miserable. I could be awesome instead. Well. I am awesome. But that's in a different story, I'm afraid.
See, I got my life saved. For some reason, there's a dead girl with a missing leg who had a grade point average of 4.0 and plans for her future. And then there's me, moping.

Seriously though. Every day I wake up and check for pain before getting up. And I feel like every day is like entering your local blockbuster and seeing there's a new movie out with ninjas on the cover that promises ninja wars and awesome kaboom and you get happy 'cause ninjas are fucking awesome and the title sounds sick. But in the next second, you remember that ninja movies are hardly ever really any good and therefore, decide not to take it home but to pick something else instead. That way, you don't get disappointed 'cause the ninjas stay awesome in your mind. God, I wish I were a ninja. *sigh*
Back to the point I believe I had before I got sidetracked by ninjas... Here I sit, restless, anxious, angry. Moping. I don't know what to change. I don't know how. But nahmean 2.0 would definitely know what to with herself. And be free of guilt. And know how to spit fire.