Can I finally relax enough to write? We will see based on what comes after this sentence. God I feel weird. Good weird. New. Freshly shaven as if a sickening growth has been sheered from my psyche. My assurance in myself, that I can survive on my own (and even thrive), has been refounded today. It didn't come from anyone else's soothing words or charity. It came from my teetering closer to the edge of floundering entirely and being completely repulsed by the ensuing nausea that would accompany that. I threw up the stupid fences I had set up around me and told them to go to hell with themselves. And it felt pretty fucking good.

Initially I gave up one form of dependency for another (in other words, sulking in my own woes, assuming I would sink so low to the point that someone ELSE would come scoop me up and brush me off). Then it became clear to me that if I did that, I would continue to be a prisoner. With a self ordained sentencing. Well, then, another thing became obvious to me. If I can create my own misery, I can create my own happiness! It only is right. I can let reality gnaw me into a gray carcass or I can carve my own, new way through space. So now I've managed to conjure up some hand tools from the pits of my brain and I'm teaching myself how to use them. The process has begun.