How Bad Does It Have to Get?

I laid on the grass of the park late last night and I looked up through the branches of a wide tree and thought, ‘ This will be the last time I am in this country in August.’
I laid so still in that thought and it rambled into the stars I could not see.
The stars I knew I would, this time next year.
I know I will get through this.
It’s a low I suppose I had to get to, in order for me to really change.
There is a lot of fear but a question of wondering I have, is this really an adequate low?
Am I going to fight against it? Am I going to be too strong? Where the bottom is bottomless and my emotions must be strained more and upheaved more. Where my life has to completely flip upside down, parts where my entire vision gets distorted and not just foggy when I wake in the middle of the night because I cried myself to sleep the night before. It’s perception. If I thought this was flipped up already, then the process to change would have started. Has it already and I don’t know it? Wouldn’t I know it?
How messed up does it have to become, for me to believe it is what I need to change who I am?

Making Good from ‘ Bad ‘

I write differently to different people because everyone is different and people need to hear things differently or read them written that way instead of the other way and each way makes you pick up snatches that aren’t the same.
People make me figure stuff out about myself.
I only have my own self reflection here in Thailand so going to Canada and being exposed to mirrors that talk back is incredible. It makes me feel more like a person instead of a shell and it is scary to think that I may think of myself as a shell in Thailand and only that. But there is so much to feel in Canada. So much to give and so much to take and I have to stay sensible and realize that it is only because my time has been limited each and everytime I have went back,for the past four years. It affects these things so much so, that breaking down isn’t so much of a surprise. Because these are the life sized things. For me. These are the things that pinch my heart and stagger my thoughts and wind my ideas so that they go walking across the carpets on missions to unknown destinations.
That is me dealing.
There are always many tears when I say goodbye in Canada and I am always trying my best not to drown in them. Being conscious of it. It is good to feel that way even though it is hurting.
If I felt none of this, could I really sense the better in the good? If I had nothing to compare. Nothing extreme to relate it to, then the good wouldn’t be so good and the value would be non-existent.