Stark contrast. Complete opposition.

Beauty, right.

So, what's beautiful about tonight?

What's beautiful about not being able to go home? About not feeling ok at home? Not feeling alright with a loved one?

What's beautiful about finding comfort alone, leaning on a bar, with a beer in hand? Sitting next to strangers. Staring at the television but not registering what all the pictures mean. What everyone else is talking about.

What's so beautiful when the people in close quarters are laughing and singing and it does nothing but cause irritation? Agitation. When the music playing overhead just fills the silence. Provides no emotional response.

When finding joy seems more troublesome than anything else.

When hope seems like a waste of time.

Where is the beauty?

What is so beautiful about all of that?

And there is the beauty I yearn for.  It catches me.  It finds me.

When I'm on my way to the gym on a Thursday evening, after working for twelve hours.  After schlepping from one job to the other.  From brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks to brewing coffee and serving espresso drinks somewhere else.

After all that.

It finds me.

Somewhere before North Avenue.  Outside a church on St Paul.  

It finds me.

Five people.  Three sit.  Two stand.  Three violins.  One banjo.  One acoustic guitar.  They're playing folk music.  The kind that makes you want to strip off your shoes and go dance in the grass with a friend.  They're playing it and I can feel nothing but happiness.

With each step of my feet I feel buoyant.  A rhythmical bliss.  A sense of belonging.  As if these five people gathered on the steps of this church to play music for me.  To wait and wait until I decided I'd like to walk to the gym on this Thursday evening.  To select the songs according to my mood and my spirits and play them as I pass by.

Yes.  There is that beauty.  Even if I've fooled myself into feeling it.

So what's wrong with enjoying a bit of sadness? A little melancholy? Depression?

What's wrong with it?

This crisp white wine, as the box tells me it is. This hot shower. These defeating lullabies.

What's wrong with it all?

Why can't I like it? Why can't I look forward to it? Why can't I yearn for the few hours of night I have to just lay around my apartment drinking shitty white wine and listening to disheartening acoustic tunes?

Why can't I just have that?

Why is there so much guilt associated with it? Why is there so much shame and revulsion?

Why do I type these words behind the large white door of the bathroom?

I don't know. I don't know at all.

But damn if anyone is gonna stop me from this delicious crisp white and some tub time. Damn it all.

So I get sick of my own voice. I get sick of reading my own words and thoughts and typing them daily. I get sick of submerging in myself.

Get in. Get out.

But I can't. I can't escape.

Everywhere you go, there you are.

Someone says this to me as I hand him his skinny vanilla latte. And I've heard it before. I heard it in Sheppard Pratt. The social worker said it in that cool deep voice of his.

And yeah, it's true. And yeah, it's a profound statement. And yeah, it sounds beautiful.

But shut up. Just shut up.

I see friends. I drive to Bethesda to see them. They're standing around the bar in a corner of Union Jacks.

I approach and smiles and greetings erupt. They explode with joviality.

And I'm warmed. Enriched. Fulfilled.

All that.

It feels good. I haven't seen these folks enough lately. These folks that I've shared my life with. That I've joined in experiencing and learning what this world is all about. What we're all doing here. How to make it better. How to make ourselves better. I've journeyed through my days with them. Years. Lives.

I've journeyed with them.

As the night moves on I step outside to smoke a cigarette. They appear a few minutes after and announce how the party is moving. How they're relocating to a wilder establishment.

And I have to decline.

Sadly, I have to decline.

But they understand. They're supportive and caring as usual.

It depresses me when I'm left sitting on the curb as they drive off in drunken glee. But I'll see them again soon enough.

God, I hope I see them again soon.

I get home at four in the morning.

I'm sober. I'm with the Girl. I'm content.

We've just returned from my first night at a drive-in movie theater. We sat in the cooling heat of summer and watched three movies on the largest screen in the US.

We're hungry and I make us veggie burgers with lettuce and tomato. Pickles and onions. Broccoli sprouts on a whole wheat bun.

On the bed we watch stand up comedy shows as we silently chew our food.

We smoke a cigarette on the back porch as the sun comes up.

My life has certainly changed.

I get headaches.

And I recall when my psychiatrist told me that the Effexor may send sensations of electric shock throughout my body. Waves of uncomfortable surges. Pulsations of pain.

But maybe it's the lack of sleep too. Maybe it's the fact that I'm only unconscious for a few hours a night. Only resting for a brief period of time. Barely recuperating.

Or could it be the stress? The constant strain of worrying about my future? My security? My happiness? My progression as a person?

Or the caffeine? The fact that I now work at Starbucks? That I can consume an unlimited amount of coffee for free?

Maybe it's because I think too much. Or some fault of my brain that is unable to handle a normal amount of activity. Maybe I killed too many cells by drinking too much alcohol. Maybe -

Ok. Yeah. That's enough.