eally forget how rare an opportunity it is to be a capable human being, not capable of everything of course, but capable to walk, talk, run, cook, eat, watch movies, laugh, cry, swim, drink, listen to music... well, to just exist as a human. A lot times I don't want to be a human, a lot of times I think how easy it would be to not exist. So I didn't have to walk the walk, talk the talk, run around, worry about what I eat, watch boringness, and cry. To have to feel so much. I don't mind feeling happiness or joy, but those are rarities too. It's the pain and anger and frustration and beaten down expectations, my own humiliations, embarrassments, guilt, it's all so overwhelming and claustrophobic and suffocating that sometimes I do wish it would stop me from breathing and I can forget all the crap that I worry about doing and not doing.
And then. Occasionally I remember how lucky I am. That I'm lucky all the time. Lucky even when I'm drowning in my own sad blue moods, and whimpering about my own aching pain. Lucky to be able to feel and rise out of it. Lucky to be able to know how special it is to feel joy and warmth because to feel the opposite is so excruciating. Lucky to be grateful for those small moments of joy and try to nurture them. Nurture me in the process.
Yeah, I don't always feel lucky to be human. But in truth, I am always lucky, whether I acknowledge it or not.
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