it seems to me (from baudelaire's Flowers of Evil)

Il me semble que je serais toujours bien là où je ne suis pas…
Not the first time it’s been said but no longer true: I am here, will always be here until the final decay, the final disintegration. My nightmares have ended, a certain kind of peace, the restlessness ebbs and flows as it should: an equilibrium of desire and contentment. I am not all I once was, the figment of an idealized self. I still struggle but not with how to end the demons within me, rather how to put them to use.