(cracked) Windows and Open Doors

My previous post had me wondering why things felt too good to be true, and unfortunately, my gut feeling was correct. The dream died hard and slowly but in it's place, a new hope.

The sunny little house in the cornfields has been replaced with a shady little house on 3 acres of peaceful solitude. I have not been able to shake the lingering doubt from the previous experience that it still may prove a fruitless venture, and the amount of money I will be left with at the end of the month is dismal, but...

Maybe I don't need as much as I think I do? I have coworkers and family that are willing to help me get started, and I can slowly build from there. I don't necessarily need windows that can open if I can sit in the shady patch under a magnolia tree and relax after a long day.

I don't need furniture, despite my ex having two storage units full of unwanted stuff... ...

I'll be fine.

Just fine.

Optimism (with Frozen Needs)

Some days I want to write and write and write, and then there are others... the days where I feel as though I physically would choke and die if I attempted to open my journal and put ink on page. I remember that choke . I used to feel it tighten my throat whenever I cracked open a box of cheap wine and realized I had drank more than intended the night before and could not make it through an entire day with the remaining contents of the sloshing, poisonous bag. I used to feel it whenever I attempted stepping out of the house, and unless it was for another box of wine, I often let it defeat me. "The Gift of Fear" I thought, priding myself on being so good and so gentle with the mental illnesses that trapped me in that apartment for five slippery sloshing years. Mental illness does not deserve my kind regard. Recently, I've been feeling pretty down on myself, because at 235 days, I am not a saint. The miraculous transformation I expected to continue in...

Partnership (with Benefits)

A Thought from last night... Usually, I have very nebulous reasons for staying in a partnership. It was something I placed more on myself: "I like the way I feel when he..." or "He makes me..." and the longevity was usually based on my perception of their capacity to put up with my bullshit. Small fights breaking out isn't new for me, but not feeling more secure in the relationship bonds after a tit (or alternatively, breaking things off completely) is strange territory. E. is not afraid to walk away after a fight. He makes it very clear that he stays here so long as he chooses to, and I respect that so long as it's benefiting him, he will find it easier to choose my company. I am very much the same way. Thank god we both prefer to talk over conflicts (after a healthy cooling-off period) and find compromises within those conflicts. I find it somewhat important that a partnership doesn't crumble the first time voices are raised. And I'm ve...

Sanctuary (with a Mild Breeze)

I think at 55 days sober, it's alright to take a couple of days to reflect on who I truly am, alone and independent. I feel as though I should be doing more, making more progress, working on quitting smoking, eating better, losing weight more quickly, getting out more, making more meetings, but... I only feel anxious about my own progress when I start relating it to what others are doing with the same sober time, or more. I'm always chasing ideals, daydreaming of a better future. Some days, it's enough to get dressed, take a shower, get some minor chores done, and feel comfortable with the presence of oneself. Not dwelling on social media or taking in the testimonies of others, just separating from the world and reflecting on what makes my own personal ideal of success. Today, my personal level of success is feeling happy. Gently touching base with a couple of close friends to remind them that 1) I am alive and 2) I am still devastatingly funny, even...

Life & Death, with Flowers in-Between

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