There are so many thoughts running through my head just now, it's hard to even organize them to write this blog. My mother averted ovarian cancer, I couldn't be there, the Wonderdog Piper has taken to extreme puppy behavior, I'm taking a new anti-depressant that's making me feel bipolar (freaking great one minute, anxiety-ridden at another), and I just have this feeling like I'm not doing anything right. That's not much, right?
I have divorce papers, revised, and being sent back to the attorney tomorrow, which means by the end of this week, I could be officially divorced. Props to my BFF attorney for helping me when I sorely needed it. It's not even a thing anymore. I have felt divorced for so long, I think the official seal will go out, not with a bang, but with a whimper. I am markedly concerned that I don't know how to be a partner/girlfriend/lady companion anymore without inadvertently bringing the "crazy" that I feel I've acquired. I feel like I've come so far, really, all things considered, but in some ways, I worry that I'm stunted forever, stuck in Needyville as the Mayor, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
As an added bonus, due to what I suspect may be Obamacare, I had to change anti-depressants. That's been awesome in the middle of adjusting to a new job and my mother dealing with cancer and a surgery for which I couldn't be there. I'm strangely emotional, dizzy, sleepy and not able to sleep, depending on the day, and I feel a little disconnected from my life. I see my life, as I'm a balloon floating above, and it doesn't look too bad, but I worry that stress or this disconnection is keeping me from completely experiencing it.
Oh, how I don't want to whine. I really, really don't, and I am trying like holy hell to be positive, and I've gotten so much better at it. It's just hard. Life is hard. Damn you, Daddy, when you answered my "That's not fair," with "Life isn't fair," I thought you were just being your quintessential smart ass self. As it turns out, that was dead on.
I also worry, in my myriad of worries, that because I'm trying to give the air of being "perfectly fine," I'm not even being myself, in some ways. There are things I want to say and do and ask, and I think that fear may be holding me back. To quote "Grey's Anatomy," if I'm "scary and damaged," who would want to be around me? Ohhhh, life, you're throwing me all kinds of little curveballs. I see what you're doing, and I raise you a "you don't know who you're dealing with." I vow to scale back on the freaking out, I have no patience part of my personality, and just have fun and work on myself. God knows, I need the work. I have some things to prove, it appears.
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