Interesting few days, to say the very least. And in advance, please do your best to forgive the jumbled nature of the following. There has been plenty on my mind, for worse and for much, much better.
If you're reading, though, you should know that the FBI forms are on their way, and soon after I will be on my way back to Ireland. It's difficult to imagine the depth of how much I need this. Sometimes it's a physical ache. Sometimes it's a mental strain. Sometimes it's a lump in my throat. Sometimes it's a fondly-kept memory. Mostly it's a passion I don't understand; rather, I understand that there exists a reason for feeling the way I do but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it.
Enough about that, though.
Lately, life is back to a place it's been before. That is to say: the things that are occurring now mirror things that have occurred in the past, some five years back. I am beginning to remember things, things I'd just as soon forget but really shouldn't. One should never forget the past, just learn things from it.
Among other things, I've happened upon the support-less existence I once lived. Usually, the thing I want most is to be understood, although "to be great is to be misunderstood" [R.W.E]. Or maybe it's just being accepted as who I am. I am a fighter. I fight for things I believe in and I fight against things that defy justice and security and humanity. If it pleases you to take comfort in an overtly peaceful, comfortable and apathetic existence, so be it. But do understand that I am not like that. Do not whip out a fake drawl in your speech while expressing how much you do not care about equality. I won't take it lightly.
So it reminds me of something.
And something else.
And I can't help but wonder if my life is beginning a second cycle of similar events, but in doing so, life is not getting more difficult but less. Less because I've fought these battles before. I've grown hopelessly lax in my self-sufficiency [although I'm told that self-sufficiency is a sin, I digress] and I know I used to be stronger than this. What now? Grow calloused and comfortable in already-fought and already-victorious battles? Where is the zeal then? If this is so, then my life is growing monstrously lackluster.
But I refuse to believe that.
I think that the cycle is not a cycle but rather a regression of thought, a memory, a place to go in order to relate. I expressed to friends earlier this week how important it was for me to find a community, where alienation was minimal, where judgments were not passed, where I was safe.
I cling to it.
Community is one thing, though, regression is another. I suppose it would be prudent to try and decipher between regression and the comfort of a been-there-done-that situation. Perhaps it would be wise to sort out fact and fiction, place them in categories, and put them in storage for later. But I've never been that organized.
I think what I'll actually do is go off to Ireland. It's no vacation, but in a way, I'm vacating from everything here. It's comforting, because the moment I remember why I moved out is the moment I just have to leave again.
And the moment is near, if not already passed.