Life is kinda good now, because:

I like my job, it pays alrightly-well, I seem to be surrounded by nice people. Even though bits of it are a pain in the arse, fundamentally I like what I’m doing. I’m not dragging my feet all day long to go in to work.

In the last few months, I’ve kind of developed a greater confidence in my own tastes and preferences, and am kinda happy now not feeling the frantic jealousy that comes with comparison. I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want, I’m going to be  whoever the fuck I want to be. For the last eight-ten years, I vacillated between liking a certain kind of thing to disdaining the predictability of that entire lifestyle/aesthetic/etc. I now no longer think you necessarily have to be a goddamn poseur to subscribe to such things, though it must certainly help, and there are certainly loads of people out there who qualify as both. But it’s stupid to let that stop me doing exactly what I want, certainly I can’t see why that is any less stupid than conforming to sensibilities that you don’t agree with. In the last few months I’ve kind of realized that I don’t give a fuck about that anymore. I’m happy where I am, I’m tired of being too self-conscious to pursue the things I like, while simultaneously being jealous of people who do, in addition to endlessly judging them for their predictability. They’ve fallen off my radar, and after quite a long time of not being able to choose your friends, I think I’m in a good position to be more discerning about what I do with my time. It’s kinda nice, really. I’ve been able to stop giving a damn about things that don’t really matter to me.

I have a couple of good friends, who seem really nice, and who I’m glad to have around. I don’t need loads of people, I don’t think, but fundamentally also in the last two or three years I’ve developed social skills that good god I never used to have. And I’ve stopped feeling awkward about not having said skills, because it kinda feels like, well at least I have them now, at least I’m not trapped in my thirteen year old self, at least I’m not permanently socially maimed, but mundane circumstances of upbringing.

Also I know for a fact that my mind has grown up a little bit, because reading the stuff I used to write before, it’s all so bloody inane. Maybe all this stuff now will seem inane later on, surely it will, to my 28 year old self, but it feels good to have move forward anyway, if only because I was stuck in that state for ever so long. In short, it’s nice to think that I’m getting more and more at peace with myself. I don’t actually think I’m a terrible cliche, anymore.

I think in the past two or three years I’ve shrugged off a good deal of the learned helplessness that I developed when I was younger. I’m slightly more aware of my ability to change my life, and I’m slightly less discouraged when change doesn’t come straightaway. I’ve learned ever so slightly how to ignore my bloody emotions with these things, because I’m neurotic as fuck and my mind goes crazy I know, my internal and immediate radar is a bit of a melodramatic.

And also, I have a partner who loves me, who is also at a fairly exciting time of his life, whose company I enjoy immensely, who I suppose I’m starting to find more common ground with, and with whom things are simple. That’s pretty awesome, and really even before all the other things were certain, it kept me pretty happy anyway. It’s going to be four years, soon, in a month and a day, and I’m pretty glad I lucked out on that one.