i'm happy.

things are fresh. things are waking. things are not gelled. things are in transition. this is good. things are still not ready. things are still putting only one foot forward. things are tentative. things are strange. things are fun and bring a weird shock and fear at the same time. things are dumb. things are ..in transition.

after talking to my PsyD lady last night. about little parts of me that are thawing. and my both enjoyment and discomfort with this. strange sense of recoil and reach. and my ability to process hurt and anger within hours instead of embracing it for weeks and worrying at it the way i worry at the skin inside my cheek when i'm stressed.

i was laying in my boatbed , thinking about liking my friends and enjoying my life and feeling pretty good about things and i started to cry a little. how funny is that. grief becomes a habit, and as it slowly eases and slides away... there's a sadness. that's not just me, right?

but i remember. things i only touched on vaguely when i began this diary. the period of my life in which i didn't eat and lost 25 lbs. in which all stimulus hurt me like i was a giant raw nerve. the period where i sat on my bed and stared blankly at the wall for hours, because tv hurt. food hurt. alcohol hurt. computer hurt. dog hurt. sunlight hurt. talking hurt. i couldn't even embrace self-destructive behavior, or even sleep. all i could do was sit. as still as possible. and wait .

the period where i imagined tumors growing inside me to take my mind away from my own self involved self pity. thinking, terminal anything would save me and give me somethingbigger to think about. or wished i'd just get hit by a car. i was still hopeful, but i wanted an escape. so i couldn't self-destruct on my own, i wanted someone else to destruct me for me. where i was so consumed with some form of grief that i was physically sick for near to 6 months.

the throwing up. the diarrhea .and the self-hatred i felt for all that weakness through the whole thing. i couldn't understand why abandonment would break me the way it was. why i couldn't just chalk it up to "the one that got away" . chalk it up to what *happens*. things *end*. my inability to stop it, to process it, to ease it. i was no longer a rational adult . but base and irrational and insane. i felt. insane. a wild horse i was not. my skin turned deflector, friends would hug or touch and i'd recoil like electric shock.

and it took almost 2 years for a lot of that to start easing. it took his nearly dying a second time. it took his finally deciding he wanted to live. for me to be shocked out of some sort of stuck stupor.

and here i am, and i'm stronger and weaker all at the same time. i keep myself in fun and friends. and i know the things that save me. and i am like a 15 year old all over agian figuring out who i am and what i think and what i want and re-exploring what my own skin can do and retracting refracting and reaching all at the same time. and .

when lobo asked me if i was happy. 8 months ago. and i said "if i weren't so unhappy, i'd be *very* happy" because things in my life were going so well, but it didn't make a difference.

and i realized. two months ago or so.

i'm happy.

and i'm alone. and yet not.

and that's a-ok.

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