Do I dare?

Yesterday, I felt almost…happy.

Yeah, I gotta sit with that idea for a while.

The puzzle pieces are fitting in The Holy City.

And I wrote a post about the positives of change.

Yeah, I gotta sit with that for a while too.

That’s horrifying.

I’ve said this before—for depressed people, happiness is scary, because when it’s taken away it hurts all the more.  You get used to this baseline of discontent. When you feel freer, like you can breathe…you feel a measure of happiness. But then you remember what happened last time you were happy.

You have accepted the fact that you’re on disability and you now make in a day what you used to make in an hour. You make month what you used to make in two weeks.

I am proud—that is a totally foreign feeling for me—of myself for working three days in a row as a salesgirl. What’s that about? I haven’t thought about the Nuclear Option in several days.

All of that suffering, fear, and pain led me here to a mid-western town with G-Pa, my cat, and Aunt Faerie. No hospital could do it for me—no out-patient therapy. I am wanted here. Get it? I am wanted. I am not afraid G-Pa is going have an “episode” and call me a fucking bitch. I am not worried about going back to teaching. I’m not. St. Jude gave a car. I found a Church and a therapist here. I am writing a blog. WRITING.

When my grandmother died in 2012 I gave the eulogy about the Plains of Happiness—taken from an Oprah editorial. The idea being that it’s not always the OMG I won the lottery peaks, but the steadiness of contentment. Throughout the years of my life, my Plains of Happiness did take place here in the Holy City. It was always an escape, a vacation from abusive boyfriends, husbands, and bullies. I had great times out here over the years.

God is putting the puzzle together. When I look at the past I see darkness and pain. I can’t remember clearly the way I used to be in love with my ex-husband. I can’t fully understand why I stayed with T. as long as I did. I don’t care about Fendi purses and Jaguars. I don’t care about tenure and test scores. I just want to not hurt.

To Thine Ownself Be True.

Could I really find that here?

Do I dare? Do I dare?

What if…

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel.

PS: The demons are still there. They are just holding their position right now. Thanks Saint Michael.