A mobius strip of an emotional rollercoaster

That's pretty much how it is. I'm up, then I'm down, I'm way down, I'm midground, I'm up again, I'm way up, way back down... over and over and over again.

Way back when, in November, I wrote an entry with, along with an image of a mobius strip, also included an emotional beach with waves of sadness washing back and forth. The difference between now and then is that this time, it's very irregular. While back then I could almost count being full of meloncholy once I woke up in the morning, this time I can't predict the next time I'll be a sobbing lump on my bed. The other difference is the indirect cause--last time it was connected to someone I didn't want any connections to, despite the ones present. This time it's connected to someone with whom I would like to share every possible connection with. But one thing's the same--for one reason or another, I end up feeling so full of ignomony that I spiral down in a self-hatred cycle, for the actions that caused me to feel so guilty and for feeling so wretched at the moment.
The cure for such times is often unpredictable too. Most of the time it just takes a good night's sleep; not always a 100% guarantee though. Sometimes I just need to talk my feelings out, by either explaining what I'm feeling, switching the subject entirely, or letting out what I've been holding back. Sometimes I just need some time alone, or with some people who I can rely on to make things happier or at least interesting. And sometimes, I'll just let it go away... This last one is the rarest of happenings. I used to use that method nearly all the time, and it's become more and more apparent to me of how it almost never works.

I guess it's the moments of rock bottom that bring me to my blog. Like many other people on this planet, particularly those with journals, even more particularly those with online journals, I get very verbal when I've got emotional baggage; I feel the need to spill out and examine all of the contents for everyone to see--at least those who care to, anway. Why is it so much harder to write about a happy time, or to read about or listen to a happy time? Except with old, fond memories, that's one of the hardest things to go onto my blog for.

I can't find an answer that sounds right.

I never thought I'd find myself saying this... but I wish summer would hurry along its way.

I find myself changing alot. And it's scary.

And now I shall go try the "good night's sleep theory."