Goodnight Dive

Is there any good way to vent one's frustrations?

I had a brief chat this winter about how writing down negative feelings is a kind of cathartic ritual, so that's fine, but it's hard to make it into good reading material because it touches on dark themes and the writing style makes it difficult to produce something worthwhile. However, there are a certain number of remarkable people in this world who can take all that negative writing and turn it into an essay that's like a well-seasoned soup, and I secretly want to join their ranks. When asked if I have any special skills, I want to be prepared to say, 'I can write, after all.'
Even if I don't imitate someone's writing style while feeling woozy from taking a Pregabalin, I should at least learn from their enthusiasm. Let me think of something while being careful not to sound like anyone else.

I looked back on my previous year, a time when I continued to have such a low mood that I couldn't just say 'no news is good news' to others, even though that's what I told them.
No matter what I did, it was hard to recover with half-hearted rest, and my ability to switch between on and off modes tended to decline, which caused problems in various aspects of my daily life.
The drop in my work efficiency was likely temporary, but the frequency of forgetting things and losing items became so bad that it surprised even me; if my parents or siblings knew, they wouldn't just be put off, they'd send me straight to a doctor's office.
In about half a year, I left my valuables behind at shops twice for my wallet and three times for my smartphone. It's a wonder they came back to me every time, but that's probably because those are items that are easy to trace if the finder tries to keep them. I lost two transportation IC cards in a row during the same period, and those definitely didn't come back.

Looking back, my self-management was lax, so it was only natural that my absent-mindedness became the norm.
There were countless unintegrated causes for my long-term malaise, and the reason I didn't even have the motivation to channel those flaws into my creative work lay in my body, which was only halfway to recovery. I spent most of that time feeling like I had turned into gas until I realized that seven hours of sleep was what it took to return to normal.
I can't push myself like I did when I was in good shape; if I don't get regular sleep, the moment my body wants to sleep, my brain won't let it, and the second I become conscious of my neck, shoulders, hands, or eyes, they start to ache intensely.
I want to keep telling myself 'it's okay, it's okay,' but if my body's prognosis becomes poor, it feels like I'll really be finished, so for now, I'm prioritizing sleep without hesitation. That's why I'm putting so much effort into my 'bedtime dive.'

If I could shout at the twilight sea about how I'm unreliable, pathetic, and miserable despite recovering my body and lifting my spirits, I would.

Just being able to move makes me feel strangely strong, and while I'm at it, I give myself a pep talk, but then the twins in my head sing eccentrically, 'Who cares about that? For now, just rest, sleep well, get better, and live like your life depends on it. Oh, that's right, if you can't do it, you can't do it. Just sleep, just sleep.' Yes, yes, I understand. Please be quiet. I'll sleep when I get sleepy. I'll sleep without holding back. Understood, loud and clear.

When I walk down the street, I watch out to the right and left to keep my thinking agile. My gear in standby is naturally neutral, and if I'm going to run, I shift to drive. Even if I run out of fuel or get a flat tire, I'll deal with it when it happens; I'll just switch to a train or a tricycle.
The steering wheel and pedals are things my hands and feet simply remember, so I can use them without thinking, and just like that, even though I'm crawling, I'm still writing and moving forward with a subtle tenacity.

Yeah. Daily life with a physical body is difficult in many ways. Even today, with the cold wind blowing incessantly, I managed to survive in my own strangely poetic way, and I end up concluding that it's something to be grateful for. Oh, calm down, calm down, I didn't forget anything yesterday or today, so I'll just quietly do a goodnight dive.