And here we are...
What words do I have to encase the incredible journey of the last ten years? Many. And few, just the same. It has become obvious to me in my aging that I was always who I was going to be underneath the ever hardening shell of the years, that glitxy grimy teenager who started this journal has never and will never fade into oblivion. She's still in there, and oddly enough has remained relatable and ever the addlebrained big hearted cynic. Though now I have gotten older, sprouted a few greys and obtained a few well placed wrinkles around the eyes, I don't feel that my view on the world has much changed. Yes, having a child, nearly a teen now, has undoubtedly changed my life and my view on several things (including the lengths I will go to in order to keep his life normal and pleasant. Who knew I was capable of ever raising someone so happy when I myself, well, you know...) I have though. He's fantastic, kind, hilarious, aware, and my reason for staying strong in the face of so many incredible blows that I was never to expect. It's become very apparent to me now that when they tell you to enjoy being a child, a teen, a young person, because adulthood is not for the weak, it's true. However I was never someone who really had the option of enjoying being young because I was surrounded by catastrophe and things that I now realize built me for this. From rusted and mismatched parts, yes, but they have come together to create a machine that can and will last, until it doesn't. It's been too long since I have written anything down, besides a mindless Facebook post or some scribbled half assed short story that gets tossed never to be seen again. I've lost my touch, and perhaps my drive. Nah, it's still in there, but I'm so very tired. Raising my son has brought out the very best of me, I have been able to show him the love over the years that I so desperately needed and never received. It's been an honor, and incredibly difficult at times. He's able to talk to me, communication is open. I don't hurt him in all the many ways I became used to as a kid, he's free of that heavy shit. I guess the age old cliche of 'I learned what not to do, and how not to be' holds truth for me. So far it is working, but then again the teen years haven't come and when they do I really hope he knows I'll be there. I'll be strong for him. Of course being alive hasn't gotten easier to master,if that's even possible. Depression hasn't gotten easier to quell. Different medications, doctors, jobs, people floating in and out of life, it's all very erratic. I have become used to my emotions and knowing what I am feeling when I am feeling it. The 'why' is apparent sometimes, but the 'how' when it comes to getting out of that anxiety tar pit, still evades me to this very day some nearly 20 years later. To have made it this far is something to be proud of, I know that. I wish I could say I have thrived for any part of it, enjoyed one solid year of my life without some desperate yearning for normalcy and the feeling of being alright. I've made no attempts to quit, I wouldn't do that with everyone so obviously relying on me, and they do. My son, quite obviously I would never dip out, abandon, scar him in that way. The parents that brought me into this fantastically fucked up world now either rely on me in every way (mom) or don't speak to me at all (dad). It's all very fucked really, and very weird. There could be some poetic justice there if this was a movie, but it sure isn't. It's just life, which is never as glamorous or logical or easy. The feelings are still there, the strange anger and fascination with the darkness that have plagued me for the entirety of my life as far back as I can remember. I don't sugar coat it, I don't hide it, but there isn't much to hide when you've become sort of a nobody. Just working, and shopping, and masking for family and people here and there. It's completely different from the world of yesterday when we lived for our friendships and our updates and our moment to spill the beans about how we are. Nothing quite so dramatic now a days, just survival and the conscious choice to try. I keep forgetting this place exists. Every couple of years I remember it and stop by to re read some things and maybe post something. I guess it's nice to have something for so long, the closest thing I have to a diary or a friend of old really. Still doing the damn thing, growing and carving out my little spot in the universe. There are infinite things I could say about what I have learned and experienced, but why? Hopefully my memory wont fail me for some of it, hopefully it will blessedly white out the pain of other things. I have loved, I have lost, I have grown, I have helped, I have hurt, I have tried to make it worth all of it. I haven't given up, and I wont for as long as I have some goodness in me and something that deserves to be protected, because I can do that. If nothing else I have become good, and kind, and use that to make up for whatever the hell is wrong with me. It feels good, it makes sense. It's all I really have. Maybe I will come back for an update one day, who knows. I never really expected any of this, I don't know if anyone really does. Life is weird.