how'd i ever get so lost

It's been so long since I've written here I kind of forgot its existence.
The reason is I can't write when I'm happy.
And I've been happy.

Pure, unadulterated happiness for the past two months.
People often tell me what an awesome life I have, how impressed they are with what I've achieved.
I get a lot of thanks for the amount of work I put into things.

These comments stem from an external understanding of my existence. There are some dark truths of how I got to where I am and how I am still here, doing all this.

When people tell me what an awesome life I have, I feel the need to share how my life isn't so honourable.  How busying my mind on all these levels is what saved me. How close I've been to ending my life because it was so stagnant that suicide barely would have made a difference.

When people say thanks to me for putting hours of labour into productions, I want to tell them it's not even for them but for me. The work I put into things has only ever been for my own benefit. It's been to keep my alive. I am Newton's first law. To rest means certain death. If I'm busy, I'm alive.

Most upperclassmen in art schools take three to four because studio courses are typically five hours each. Also, they usually take two or three studios and others being humanities, like art history and such. I took five classes this semester. I took four studios and a screenwriting class. Which I didn't realize was insane until the last week in the semester when I had four final crits and everyone was like 'oh I have one/two. You're insane."

I handed in every assignment on time. I got good remarks on my work. In the midst of the chaos of five courses at probably the best art school in North America, I performed my first trapeze act in a show that I also designed and teched the lights and audio for.

My classes ended last week. The aerial studio I practice in has been closed the past week as well.
And I feel unbelievably broken without these things taking up my time. This weekend I hardly did a thing. It's alarming how inexplicably sad I get when I don't have things forcing me out of bed. I've come to a resting position and it takes more than I could ever imagine to get myself out of it. Even when I know that staying like this could kill me. I'm learning that I am chock full of addictive behaviours that are not being resolved. My addiction to work, when I am not at work, converts to other forms. Equally as addicted to labour as to sex, when neither are sated I resort to sugar. And I gain and lose the same five, ten, fifteen pounds whether I'm happy and busy in life or not.

I am sick but it is my sickness that is me. To lose one habit might lose them all. But one habit keeps me alive while one only keeps me glued to one spot. I need to make all of my addiction for one thing and perhaps then this pure happiness can last.