The birthday

So my birthday was interesting. First, we had a plumbing emergency. Luckily my father in-law Paul knows a thing or two about plumbing and Ronald was able to help him fix it saving us hundreds of dollars.

We were able to salvage the day by going to lunch in the afternoon. We went to the Cheesecake Factory in pretty Walnut Creek and got so full we couldn't even walk around after like we had planned. Then we rented a movie and came home and I took a birthday nap while Ronald did homework. That night we watched the movie and had a little ice cream cake (mint and chocolate mmm).

During lunch we talked about my 25th year and what I want now that I'm 26. In the last few months I have grown a lot; I feel like I am getting better at expressing my anger, I'm beginning to let go of my parents in a real way, and l think I'm more confident and authentic. This coming year I want to gain independence, find more stability, be more creative, get through my anger, and maybe even go back to school. It's all a little exciting/scary. We'll see how it goes...

It's a hoot

It's my birthday. I'm so excited to have a day with Ronald since he has been so busy with work. We are going on a date and I can't wait to talk with him and hold his hand.

My in-laws bought me the most gorgeous cameo ring, my friend Rachelle sent me a care package full of goodies, and Ronald bought me an awesome huge set of deer antlers on a plaque to hang in our living room (I know the deer antlers sound kind of weird but I've wanted them for so long and love them).

I'm feeling good today, since Ron has been working so much I have to stay strong and keep my guard up to keep myself from going too far down the road of depression. It's kind of scary having to be so strong but I've gone through the whole week successfully. I'm glad I have a day where I can let my guard down completely.

we have the technology

This week I'm trying to take care of myself. Yesterday I crafted for two hours, making Valentine things of course. Today I'm going to go for a nature walk, then do spa things. This is hard. I ignore myself and what I really need so much of the time. I feel guilty doing things I enjoy. But tomorrow is my birthday so I'm using that as a reason.

Yesterday while crafting I discovered some photographs of my parents. For some reason I hid them in one of my craft boxes along with a card from my mom that said "Cate" on the envelope. It occurred to me that I could throw those photos and the card away. I never thought of that before. I put them in a pile, without looking at them and threw them away and immediately took the garbage outside to the trash can. It was so freeing to get rid of those pictures that reminded me of their last visit that was so hard, awkward and unsuccessful. I still have pictures of them with me as a child but I don't dare look at them right now.

Last night I dreamt I was at church with my dad. I resented being there and got up to throw something away (maybe hearkening back to me throwing away their photos), I came back and found a beautiful woman sitting next to my dad. He was talking to her and didn't pay attention to me, this made me feel horrible. I wanted him to be interested in me and to think I was beautiful. This reminds me of wanting his attention so bad when I was little and wanting him to think I was his beautiful ballerina. Growing up I always felt it was wrong for me to want basic attention from my dad, that that was something only my mom could get, maybe because that was the only person who got his attention in our family. I don't like writing about things like this, but I just did.

Glowing

The sun is out after weeks of hiding behind a mask of grey. It's beautiful out and makes me feel content. It's crisp and cold and our giant tree in the front yard still has orange leaves on it not realizing it is winter.

I'm doing ok today although I'm feeling a little worn out. It has been a busy week but today is mostly a rest day. I'm going to read, watch a movie and craft. Tomorrow I'm going to have an at home spa day so I will be feeling good for my birthday on Saturday, I bought a special dress to wear just because I wanted to. I will be twenty-six. Sometimes I can't believe I'm still so young. I've always felt that way and one day I will wake up and realize I am old.

I've been doing alright sitting with my feelings. Luckily my feelings haven't been too horrible although yesterday wasn't so great. I'm also staying busy since I have more energy but don't know if that is a healthy coping mechanism. See, once again I'm over-analyzing. I've also been keeping my mood log which really helps me. I'm surprised how much "content" has come up and also "guilt" and "shame".

We are going to be getting tattoos soon. Ronald is getting a really cool illustration of a devil holding a whiskey bottle that I think is from the Civil War, and I'm getting a Virgin Mary in prayer. Kind of ironic that he is getting the devil and I am getting Mary, but they both represent different things for us. His theme is hope and hopelessness (he has an angel on the other arm), and I'm getting things that describe me. I have one tattoo that represents my soul, one that represents my heart, one that represents my beauty and creativity, and the Mary represents my desire for purpose and meaning.

Ok, this is getting long. Onto the lush day and hopefully feeling good.

"with the creatures that play outside"

One thing about me is that I get obsessed with certain songs. I made a compilation called "thank God for hard times" also known as my "hard time comp", I listen to this practically every day and never get tired of it. It helps me feel something even if it's sad, it helps me feel real and understood. Sometimes I believe sadness is the only true feeling, and that happiness is a sham, I guess because I usually have to fake happiness. This makes me tired.

I learned yesterday in therapy that I have to feel my feelings and just sit with it. Stop over analyzing, stop trying to see it through a lens, just be with it like an uncomfortable encounter with a stranger. That's hard for me because I want to be in control, I want to seem normal, I want to seem happy and not so sunk and lost. I'm going to try to be more genuine. I hate how some people don't understand how I'm really feeling, but I need to be the first to give myself the understanding before I can expect that same understanding from others.

I hate this though, because I am scared of losing control, scared of people really seeing me. I don't want to be rejected and abandoned. This is the only place I really let myself be real and that makes me sad and I feel rather stupid about it. Mostly because I can only be honest typing in a fucking blog and staring at a computer screen. I feel ashamed and embarrassed and angry about this.

Cherry pop

I think I've said it before but I love Valentines I even have a version of one tattooed on my arm. I made Ronald a cute Valentine yesterday and I will post pictures of it on Flickr soon.

I'm feeling good again today which is strange. I rarely have two good days in a row but am hoping this will continue. I have therapy this morning so I'm anticipating this good feeling won't last long since therapy is one of the hardest things I do every week. I dread it with a passion but I do it because I know I have to if I want to get better.

Yesterday I went to the bookstore and bought some books for my upcoming birthday. A miniature book of Sylvia Plath's poems to keep in my purse of course. I am rather addicted to her and poetry in general. I also bought a novel that Shannon suggested and a calender where you write something positive about yourself every day. I also thought I could use the calender as a mood log and start tracking my good and bad days. I love buying books. I stand at the giant shelves in my polka dot ballerina flats and peek at all the shy books smooshed together in awkward and colorful clumps, and I pick and choose quite lavishly. Book shopping is really one of my favorite things.

I still am having bad dreams. I wake up a few times every night terrified. Last night it was that we were in Haiti during the earthquake and everyone was dying, also that my dad was being chased by a brown bear, I wonder if I was the bear? Chasing him for attention and to let out my rage.

Isabelle

This little puppy is so cute with her new haircut. I love that we can see her eyes again.

I'm feeling ok today. This makes me happy. Moderately stable in spite of my wonky sleep patterns, and that Ronald has to work twelve hour days which breaks our usual cozy routine.

When I feel stable I have so many things I want to do. I want to journal, take photographs, paint and sew. I have so many plans of things I want to make but I have to take it slow. I don't want to get my hopes up that this medicine will work since it usually never does for long and I get so disappointed. It's exciting to have a prospect of a good day though. I need to take anything I can get.

Lately, I have been dreaming that I am a criminal. The first dream was that I burned down a church and people died. The second was that I was a bank robber in the old west. My parents always creep in as some character, but the criminal portion is more in the forefront. I think this is because I struggle with guilt. I feel guilty for a lot of things, none of which are very warranted. The main things I feel guilty about are: that I'm sick, that I can't keep a clean house, that I don't know if I believe in God, my weight, and that my parents are mad at me.

shade

It's a lonely day. Ronald is working and I feel like it's Monday. I get the feeling Monday is going to be recurring tomorrow.

Dr. K raised some of my medicine slightly. I feel a little different, a little more stable . At the same time, I feel extremely jittery, yesterday I could hardly hold my coffee at Starbucks without shaking it out of my hand. Every thing is a trade off, nothing is easy. All of these "better" feelings seem to only last a short time for me. Then something clicks and my body stops responding to the medicine and voila we have to add another pill to my repertoire. I guess I'm cynical about the whole idea that medicine will work, I'm also cynical that I will ever get better.

I'm trying to make a small plan for the week. Today I'm going to help Shannon with our Etsy store, this week I'm going to craft and take a nature walk once, I'm going to go to therapy, I'm going to cook at least once, I'm going to do laundry. It's a little scary to make a plan because I usually can never fulfill it. Pop! Something rotten happens that keeps me chained to the bed. I anticipate getting the flu, or falling into sorrow. Something always thwarts my plans. Maybe this is the first week in a long time that that won't happen.

trodden

The sun is out this morning, it's cold, and I'm here. I feel stuck. I don't know what to write. I was sad last night, thinking about how damn hard life is. Maybe I am full of self-pity, but today I'm just loathing life. My medicine doesn't seem to do a thing, sometimes I wonder if I should stop taking it all together, I can hardly get through the days, the things I want to do are always at arms length because of my increasing lack of energy. It's exhausting. I can hardly get out of bed most days, I just move to the couch and sleep because there is nothing better to do and no energy to do the little daily things like shower.

I want to cry about it all and hide forever. Sometimes, I just can't imagine that this is my actual life. I know this is incredibly whiny and self-centered but I just have to vent and say it. I know all the things I'm supposed to do at times like this: think of the people who have it so much worse than me, think positive, all that happy look on the bright side bullshit. But today I'm upset, and I don't think it's wrong to say it. At least I'm being honest.

Forefront

I have a lot to do today. Most of it consists of being out in public and driving, both make me really anxious. I'm trying to think of the good things about going out. Listening to music in the car and going to the art store to get some craft supplies. These things are overshadowed by my fear of talking to cashiers, or being seen for who I am by strangers, or having to touch the cashiers hand when I grab my receipt (yes, a huge phobia of mine).

I need to take better care of myself. Treat myself well and gently but I'm so overwhelmed and not used to treating myself nicely. I feel guilty for so many things. I steep in guilt, I smell it, I live in it like an old cardboard box. I fear that I don't live up to people's expectations on one hand, but on the other hand I think "fuck it I don't want to live up to people's expectations, I just want to be me". That is much easier said than done though.

Today I am sad that we can't have a baby for a while, if ever. I worry we won't be able to have a baby because I'm so sick. I need to get more stable before we even think about it, but I'm so expectant, excited, shamed, broken hearted, jealous. I feel ashamed that I'm not strong like everyone else who can have kids no problem. I just wish I could be normal.

hold on

Holding on is painful. I remember going on the swings at the park when I was little and sometimes it hurt because I held on too tight and I would look at my hands after and they would be full of marks and rust. That's what it feels like now except no matter how tightly I hold on I seem to start slipping.

I want to hide because I don't know which mood is me anymore, I don't know who I am. Am I destined to be depressed, is that just who I am? Are all my good days manic days? Is continuing to talk about how I'm really doing even good for me? I sit and wonder.

My parents loom like an old spinster in my dreams. I can't sleep, I'm trying to stop napping, this makes things momentarily worse. My hair is falling out from stress, my stomach is in knots, I have no energy to do anything. I'm emotionally drained, physically drained, everything drained.

The soul-eating-skull-trotting-mud-monster holds me down and has its way with me. I get stuck on things. I mull thoughts over and over until they stink. I race, I stay still. I am frozen, floating, drowning, downing pills that don't seem to do shit. My love hate relationship with living and trying to get better.

Valentine

I love Valentine's Day. It is so whimsical and magical and never turns out the way you imagine. I do like decorating the house with a million hearts and red and pink is my favorite color combination. The cupids I can do without. Something about naked babies with wings weirds me out.

I'm trying to have a good day. It's hard when you wake up at 6:20 imagining your hubby will die in a brutal rain driven car crash. It's hard when the house is a mess because your two dogs ruined it while you were gone yesterday. It's hard when you don't have the will for anything.

I'm totally censoring what I say because my psychiatrist is going to read this. I want to seem artistic, interesting and not as fucked up as I actually am.

I'm tired of being strong, but that is the only option I have right now. There is no other choice and I feel stuck in it. My lungs fill with mud and I can't breathe anymore. I'm so horribly sad, broken, I can't find the words.  I used to chant to myself "how long, how long, how long?" I used to write pages and pages of those words, that was six years ago and the demon is still here. In the back of my eyelids he creeps and dwells like a god. It all comes out of me like throw up, all these dank childhood memories, old and withered, seep into me like tea in water and fill me up with so much mourning I feel like I can't move. Frozen in space, I try to act normal.

Rigid

I'm trapped, buried, stuck in the realms of the past. I wake up early from dreams, I eat breakfast, I sit next to him but I am alone, lost in the melodramatic mires of my Mommy and Daddy's old scars, habits and musings that they threw on me like so much vomit.

I feel like I can't hold on for much longer. But I keep holding. I have to hold because there is no other reasonable choice. The reality of it all hits me hard. That the nameless faceless thing is something I even think about, that I can be hospitalized one day in a psyche ward. I hope it doesn't come to that and that is why I keep fighting.

I hate writing about the reality of it. It took me fifteen minutes to write the above paragraph because I don't know if I should admit those things. Those fears, those ever present feelings. As David Bazan sings "it's good to have options", yet the options are killing me.

shambles

I was a mess yesterday. Anticipating going to sleep that night and flipping out. So down, which is so normal for me. I am going to see my psychiatrist tomorrow and I will explain how horrible I've been feeling. Hopefully there is something we can do.

It's so hard because I have ups and downs. One up day, three down days, one up day, one down day, one up day, two down days. I can never get on a schedule, on an even keel. I am on so much medicine and am still swinging, still struggling with having energy, still battling to get through the days.

I just hate life, hate living. It's so hard, too hard for me. I keep going because I have to, not because I want to. Everything in me screams that I shouldn't be here, that this is all wrong. I try to smile and act around people, but that is something you can only do for so long. I'm fucking exhausted. I can't even describe it. I never thought God would allow things to get this bad. I never thought a person could go through so much and still be alive and ticking.

Nighttime

I hate going to bed at night. I get so anxious before bed and usually cry before falling asleep. Every night I have horrible dreams. Not always nightmares, but those sort of dreams that haunt you and take you so deep you think they are real.

Every night for at least two months I've been dreaming about my parents. I am alone with them and my brother and sister, Ronald is no where to be found and I often don't even know who he is. My parents are usually yelling at me, or kidnapping me, or kicking me out of their house when I have no where to go. I wake up so sad and shocked and disconnected, sometimes I don't even know where I am.

I take one or two naps a day just to get some rest (when I nap I don't dream). I just hate this. I hate how my parents dwell like phantoms in my life.

Blogland

I received my first blog award from sweet Silke. I don't know that many blogs to pass it on to, but I thought I would still write out ten things that make me happy.

1. My Ronald. He is so sweet and supportive, my absolute best friend. I could describe him for hours but let's just say he is brilliant.

2. Our sweet puppies Amelia and Isabelle. They are adorable and keep me going on my worst days.

3. My favorite aromatherapy lotion. I use it every night and whenever I have anxiety, it is instantly soothing.

4. Crafting and creating. I especially love sewing and paper crafts.

5. Journaling. I have kept a journal since I was 14 years old and I love looking back and seeing where I've been and how far I've come.

6. Fresh flowers. Every week I buy fresh cut flowers and put them around the house. That is one thing I let myself splurge on.

7. Photography. I just bought a new camera and totally adore it. I love taking still life pictures and trying to get good snapshots of the dogs. I also sneak pictures of Ronald any chance I get.

8. Anything vintage. My sister and I run a store on Etsy selling vintage clothing. We thrift together all the time and go to antique fairs. I love my mini collections of vintage mary figurines, poodles and milk glass.

9. Date time. Ronald and I have a weekly movie date, we always do the same exact thing (let's say we are creatures of habit). We go to sushi or our favorite Vietnamese restaurant and then to Starbucks and to see a movie.  I love relaxing and spending time with him.

10. Being out in nature. We live about a block away from The Iron Horse Trail. A trail that leads for miles and we are right in the middle of it, I go on nature walks with my camera. I love the Spring time when the grasses are tall and green and the golden poppies are blooming.

I realize more and more that people are so nice and supportive. Just in blogging I have come across several sweet souls who probably don't know how much their comments mean to me. They mean a lot to me, they help me get through the days so thank you.

Solitary

I'm lonely today. Like a little girl, I am lonely for parents. I don't miss my mom, I don't miss my dad, instead I miss the idea of a mom and a dad. How can you miss a father who ignored you for your entire life? How can you miss a mom who forced you to be dependent on her, yet rarely nurtured you properly?

Sometimes I imagine that I am a little girl and I have a dad who wants me, who talks to me, who takes me out for ice cream and hugs and cuddles me. Sometimes I dream I have a mom who gives good advice, helps me do my hair and pick outfits, is more concerned about how I am doing than cleaning the house. But this is not so and this makes me cry. The little girl in me throws a fit, the adult-mother-nurturer of my inner child cries for the broken lonely little girl that I am so much of the time.

Sometimes I'm a grown up. Sometimes I'm three years old watching my dad leave on the big grey boat. Sometimes I'm 12 sitting on the stairs and hoping my mom would talk to me as she mops the floor. Sometimes I'm 16 and wishing someone would pay attention to me. Sometimes I'm twenty and hoping my mom won't give me uncontrolled and inappropriate advice about my marriage. But right now I'm 25 on the verge of 26 and missing some things so bad it hurts.

Swings

I swing between moderate to horrible. Today is a moderate day. I was able to sort of get out of bed, I made breakfast without that stampeding thought that all of this is worthless, and I have a list of things I can do today that I am kind of looking forward to.

This is bipolar disorder for me. It's not manic, it's just really depressed or slightly stable. I wish for mania. I had a manic episode once and it was almost amazing. I didn't need to sleep, I was excited about the future, my heart pulsed harshly and I really felt alive. I know this wasn't a good thing, but to feel something other than sad was nice.

On Tuesday I told my doctor that I think I will always be a sad person. That is just who I am. I've been like this ever since I was a little girl. I'm not happy-go-lucky, I'm melancholy and introspective and in some ways I'm ok with that. He asked why I'm in therapy if I'm ok feeling sad. I responded that I want to be able to find meaning and satisfaction in life through the sadness, and I don't want to kill myself. I want to live a full life, even if it's a little dark and deep.

My main goal is to find an overgrowth of reasons to stay alive. I have a few but they don't seem like enough on my bad days. I want to find meaning, worth in myself, worth in the day to day. I want to have a simple life filled with love and not this impending feeling of doom.

Steaming

The teapot is about to whistle violently and so am I.

One Klonopin down this morning and I'm frustrated and tired. I would love to just have one normal day, is that too much to ask? A day where I could wake up and get out of bed without a battle, I could enjoy eating breakfast rather than seeing it as a step to being able to swallow my six morning pills. I wish I had the energy to take a walk, to take a shower without having to force and discipline myself into doing it as if I were a little child. To be able to go out places without being scared something horrible will happen.

I wish I could get out of the mire of our messy house and have things clean for once, not for the sake of being clean, but so we could live comfortably. It seems like I can never get things done. The laundry is never ending, I move the mess from one room to another and don't know what to do with it.

I feel stuck, trapped, like the air is being sucked out of me, in quicksand, falling to the bottom of the sea. Really I've been dealing with this for much too long. Really this is pissing me off.

I go to therapy and we talk about it all. All this dependency, all this fear, all this not-being-allowed-to-say-no-when-you-were-a-kid-so-now-you-are-ruined bullshit. Oh it's so frustrating. How Mother held onto you so tight that you never realized you were an individual, how this has led you into symbiotic relationships with those closest to you, more like leech-y relationships where I take more than I give. Then the fear she fed you in sugar-coated spoon fulls of how evil and dangerous the world is. How all men want is sex and will even rape for it if they have to, how you are not safe, you are not normal, you "being born a woman and distressed". You are a home-schooled girl with no friends and an absolute lack of a teacher or support system.

So I'm angry, frustrated, sinking, dumped out, my parents threw me out like and old piece of garbage-resentfully and with no thought of the consequences. I'm lucky I had support otherwise that could have taken me down to the absolute pit, something I'm sure never once crossed their mind. As I know, and know well, all they see is themselves. I'm trying to get to a place where I can see them and not resent and hate them so much. But God is that hard, maybe one day I will be able to have pity for them. So much of the time I feel like the parent in the situation, trying to understand them, trying to be the grown up in the situation. I hate this because it shouldn't be my job. I am their child, it shouldn't be the other way around.

Pray

So sad for Haiti this morning. We sponsor children around the world and one of them is in Port Au Prince. His name is Antione, and I can't stop thinking and worrying and praying for him and all the people who are suffering.

The hospitals around the capitol of Port Au Prince have been abandoned due to extensive damage to the buildings. People who need medical aid have no where to go. They have no electricity, or water.

We are going to send a donation to help the people of Haiti through www.worldvision.org, a very reliable non profit. If you can, give.

A few things

I have spurts of energy where I can do things I want like take care of the house. There is something about a pretty and organized house that is so comforting to me. I've redecorated the living room, cleaned my craft room and simplified my nightstand (in a promise of better sleep that never arrived). I tried to make things easier, more inspiring, more artsy. I love this milk glass fruit bowl that I got from my mother-in-law for Christmas. I also love my new camera (which I will post a picture of soon). It's so fancy and takes the best pictures. I feel like I can really express myself with it.

I'm trying to stay hopeful/positive today despite my colluding doctors appointment which is coming at eleven this morning. I'm not going to wear makeup (no reason to wear something you are just going to cry off), I may not even do my hair, I may just wear sweatpants. My new thing is looking disheveled. I usually run errands in jeans and a hoodie before taking a shower with my hair a wreck, and my day old mascara smudged around my face. I figure I feel like a mess, why should I try to hide it? Maybe this is a bad omen as to how lax I've become, or maybe this is a more honest version of me.

The wrecking ball is swinging incredibly close to me these days. I am so afraid to go to sleep every night. I hate it. Each day is a step closer to death, each day is a step closer to the things I dread.

"To pray for what I thought were angels ended up being ambulances"

My hard time is back with avengence. I wake up in the night in terror and fear of being alone (even though Ronald is right next to me), I cry before bed and almost have a panic attack, I wake up exhausted.

Yesterday was hard. I went to sleep Saturday night horribly sad, and woke up with the same pining sadness. I wouldn't/couldn't smile, I stared off into space and thought those negative mix tape thoughts that always drone in the back of my mind. Can I do this? Can I get through the day? Can I live? Wouldn't hiding in bed be so much easier? Wouldn't it be easier to not exist? I crave it; crave non-existence, crave hiding under the covers in my self-created fort of a cave. But I got up, because I had to get up. Because he was there to remind me to get up.

I tried to get through the day and resolve to be positive. We went on a date, and I had to stay busy to keep the thoughts from taking over. We walked around, I felt indecisive, we saw a movie. I tried to stay awake, I tried to focus on the words and the pictures, it was hard.

We came home and I took a nap and didn't feel the pain just for an hour, I realize more and more that sleeping is the only tangible escape. I woke up and had the blues come back stronger, and the panic creepy creeping like a spider into my mouth and I can see it there and feel it there but no one else can. I know we are going to die, and soon. I feel like I can tell the future. All of this is just a mistake in thinking, just a strange synapse. I took a klonopin, it hardly helped. He rubbed my back and I tried to fall asleep. I finally did and had those dreams I can't talk about and now I'm awake and thinking "can I get through today?"

Hell bent

Some people are hell bent on ruining their lives or at least staying stagnant. I try to help, but it seems like I get nowhere with them. It's depressing. It's depressing hearing someone talk about how depressed they are when you are the one who is really depressed and they don't ask one question about how you are doing, don't recognize that you were crying in the car on the way to meet them and don't respond when you tell them you are having a bad day. I just got home from spending time with one of those people and now I'm drinking, an easy make-you-feel-better sort of habit.

My in-laws came over and helped Ronald with the house while I was gone. It's so clean and beautiful right now, I love it. Being sick, I only have the energy to do a little laundry, maybe make the bed and clean the kitchen. They were able to clean our wreck of a garage, set up a workout room for me, and put all the Christmas decorations away. I can't help but think that these are the parents I never had, and I'm so lucky to have them now.

C & H

We want to have a baby. A Cosette or a Henry. We are financially secure, have a cute little house with an extra bedroom, we both feel ready. The only thing standing in our way is my illness-- it stands like a brick wall in front of us and leaves us wondering...can we do this?

I would have to be off medication for nine months. This really is the part that scares me most. Then we would have the baby and I could get right back on these "magical" pills and feel somewhat stable. I think of postpartum depression, I'm sure I will struggle with this. I remember horror stories I've heard of a woman who wanted to microwave her baby.

I have dreams that I hurt our baby on accident. One that Henry is six years old and has night terrors because I have passed my illness on to him , the other that I am helping him walk when he is one and I somehow break his arm. I am so scared I am going to be like my parents: emotionally neglectful, overly dependent, overprotective.

At the same time I am incredibly excited, hopeful, expectant. Maybe I even feel ready at times. Most of the time though, I am scared to death and doubting that it is even possible. I am so cursed, how could I ever have a child and not curse it as well?

"Welcome back your dreams were your ticket out"

So I'm back and oh how I missed you. I've decided I can't let things (like my distant mother reading) keep me from doing something I love. So here I am.

Things have been hard and fine at the same time. I'm in a good place medication wise but in a bad place emotionally. I had one of my best therapy sessions in a long time this week. We talked and I cried about my parents and how losing them is like a death, not so much losing them, but losing the idea that I will ever have good parents.

Mother let me go months ago. She wrote it in an email--how perfectly distant. I don't know how any parent can let their very sick daughter go and just wish her luck. Father was silent as usual. Maybe writing this is a way for me to lash out, maybe writing this is a way for me to finally be honest about the big secret I have been keeping for a long time. I keep it a secret to protect them. I keep it a secret to protect them from the true Catherine wrath that I often think they deserve.

I want to be honest on here, in some ways I don't give a shit about what everyone thinks, in other ways I care so much I would just die if people thought negatively about me. But I'm sick of this, sick of this dance around who I really am.

I have this deep mourning sadness in my center. As soon as things are quiet it comes creeping into me like a ghost. "A ghost, a real ghost" as the poets say. I try to stay busy to keep the black-demon-three-headed-monster away. This doesn't serve me anymore.