I can't condense two years of life into one diary entry. As such, any voyeur who is reading this (or, more likely, my future self) will have to be content with some mystery regarding my mental state in the past two years.
I will say that they have been some of the best years of my life, or at least of the last part of my life (I remember my early years favourably but perhaps with rose-tinted glasses). I have come to accept that happiness might never be a stable part of my life and the neuroticism that lives in my family will continue to live through me. Nonetheless, things got better. I feel more calm, relaxed and almost zen-like. Taking care of my health and my body led to my mind indirectly feeling better and even if things are not perfect there is an upward trajectory (with a decidedly non-steep incline).
At the same time I find myself often going back into the same old mentality I've always had. Sometimes it only lasts a moment, sometimes entire months. Sometime in the last couple of years I realised I'd gone a month without thoughts of suicide but lately I've gone back to thinking about it every day. I'm not sure I'd say I'm suicidal. It's just constantly in my mind as a solution to any problem I may have. Sometimes I just think about it as punishment for the people who anger me. I'm not sure why I am like this.
Feeling better means coming to acknowledge the possibility I might live a long life. It's still hard to imagine. I try to think of myself as an old man. Will it be worth it? I will see the world end. I will be a bitter geriatric patient confused by new social mores. My body will wither and deteriorate. I never feared old age but on some level I've always assumed I wouldn't rach it. Thinking about it more seriously now that it feels like a possibility, I come to understand those who fear it more.
I have trouble embracing emotionally the materialism I believe in rationally. I am my body. A part of me wants to believe in dualism still. I put so much stock throughout my life in seeing my mind as superior to my body. Now that my body is gradually getting to the point where it might no longer let me down, the thought of one day losing it feels more scary.
It will still be a long time before I have to worry about this. I might die of other causes still. I think I've just come to accept an older young age to die of. On some level I keep assuming I will die before my parents which seems unlikely.
This diary entry isn't very coherent. In part this is because it is, on some level and despite my initial disclaimer, some kind of attempt at relaying my thought processes of the past two years. But it also must be because my own thoughts are rather confused. It's hard to know what my own thoughts and feelings are. Sometimes I think of myself as an NPC. If no one talks to me I don't exist. I don't mean this in a bad way. I think I'm just not very good at this introspection thing. It probably explains why I've never been able to keep a diary in my life.