In the past few weeks I have surely felt everything there is to feel. And in its rawest state. I’ve felt the mind-numbing boredom of forcing myself through another day at work, the crushing terror of the prospect of never leaving, and then the sudden unexpected euphoria and yes!-this-is-right!-ness when I handed in my notice. I’ve felt alone, and I’ve felt lonely. I’ve had my heart bruised when it grew fond of someone but left feeling reassured that it’s still possible for me to meet someone whom I could like, even after so long. I’ve felt estranged from the people who know me best and had a night of sheer and shameless fun with a group of people I had never once met before. And I’ve tried to end my life, yet again, and was revived not only by the endless and unquestioning support and love of some much undeserved friends, but in one moment a week later experienced something that made it near impossible I will ever make such an attempt ever again.

In essence, I did what I told everyone I wanted to do after I left work, albeit metaphorically. I stood on the cliff edge and didn’t walk away until I knew why I wouldn’t let myself fall. I’ve felt everything I could feel. And I did indeed go mad, as intended.

But tonight, alone in my room in my increasingly natural nocturnal state of alert activity and yet with no one to talk to, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in a good while. The last time I felt like this in fact was Christmas Eve last year. I feel happy. But this isn’t a cheap sort of joy. It’s a deep happiness. I feel whole, and I feel complete. And I feel ready for whatever adventure is coming. In fact, I am so happy I feel as if I could cry.

I know it won’t last, and I would grow itchy and restless with it if it did.

I’m just enjoying the company of my visitor for as long as it chooses to stay.