life collection

So I'm having these moments where I realize that this cesspool of a life is my life. How it happened, how it's fair, or why it is doesn't goddamn matter. I can wonder and ponder until my head falls off, but even if I knew the answers it wouldn't change the reality. This life is mine and I have to figure out a way to live it.

I may have to give up my dream of being a mother, and the idea that only old people get sick. I may have to let go of the concept that being skinny is important, and that my mood would be sparkly and fancy-free most of the time.

It's really fucking weird to think about building a life in the midst of all this suffering. I know it may sound to some like playing the victim to say I am suffering, but it's the truth. I hate that depression and chronic pain seem to be dislocated from our common thinking of disease. I guess it has to be terminal, or proved by a test to be valid in some minds.

Living hurts right now, real bad. It's hurt my whole life. My pain never scabbed over, it just became more raw and infected. I'm realizing it isn't going to go away soon. I'm realizing I need to make something of what I have left. Like little fabric remnants, I pick up a needle and thread and work on sewing my life together into...who knows what right now.

I honestly don't know what my life will be. I don't know what I want. I do know I want to sit at our dining room table in our sunny plant filled dining room and watercolor. I do know I want to keep blogging, and baking, and wearing things I like.

There comes a moment where everyone has to set out all the beliefs and hopes and dreams they have for their life and reconcile them with what actually is. I guess I'm there right now. It's scary, but it also is full of a new potential- a shift in thinking, a shift in reasons, and routines. A shift in me.

xx, C