A perfect voice with a perfect poem over a perfect melody.
New Year’s Day is a day where I live in a moment of hope. It’s a slice of time where I can think that maybe, just maybe, something good will come this time. My logical and reasoned side spends January first attempting to talk to my dominant, neurotic, avoidance side, the side where the depression and the wish to self destruct meet. It tries to convince it that next year will be different, that the next 364 days will not be ruled by my disordered brain’s thoughts. I won’t spend my time thinking about how I cannot seem to overcome the anxiety and fears of having relationships. My rational side tells me that I will get out, do more, see more, be more. That I am worthy of love and affection and friendship.
It never lasts for long. The cycles of loathing return more quickly than I like. It’s a constant battle.
But at least I have a pretty version of Robert Burns’ lovely ballad to listen to. It brings relief. That’s all I want sometimes.