I think we've officially reached the end, the point where no matter what happens, things won't - can't - ever be the same again.
Husband came to visit for the Bear's third birthday this weekend, and within twelve hours he had brought up divorce. I've turned into someone that even my own husband, my only link to sanity, can't love.
I don't even recognize myself when I look in the mirror, or when I look inside. I'm a stranger in my own life.
It's come to the point where I don't know what to do. I can only think of one way out, and it's not the way I want to take. Still, I can't think of anything else. I don't know how to fix this.
I'm going on a diet. Because, seriously. Damn.
I'm going to take my meds every day, all of them.
I'm going to be completely truthful about how I feel and what I think. All the time. No more covering things up or hiding.
I am going to think myself well. I spent a weekend with a family friend who is dying of cancer just last week, and she was absolutely convinced that your mind has control over your body. I mean, she woke up every morning and told her body that it did not have cancer, that it was not sick. I'm going to borrow a page from her book, and tell myself every day that I *am* a happy person, that I *do* have a good life, and that I should celebrate my life as it is, instead of bemoaning the fact that it's not what I want.
It can't get any worse than this. It can only get better, or end. And I'm not ready for the end to come yet. I want to feel things. I want to live, like people do. I don't know if things will get better, but I know I have to try.