dark places.

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Boys are dumb

So I have been talking to this guy online for about a month and a half. He lives a couple hours away, but said he was good with coming here to visit. We had a coffee date set up for a Sunday but then he "had to" bail at the last minute. So, we rescheduled for the following weekend. It was his weekend to have his son, but his ex always picked the kiddo up on Sunday morning, so he was still good to come visit. On Saturday, he texted to tell me that his ex asked him to keep the kiddo until Tuesday, so the date was off again. Then he went silent for a day. I texted him in the morning and then once again in the evening hoping that everything was ok.  The next day, he said that he had been in a bad headspace that day and just didn't feel like talking. I said, yeah, I get that, but if you're going to go silent, I would appreciate it if you just sent a text saying you weren't up to talking so I would know what's up. As we were talking, it turns out that he has social
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Being helpful or hiding? Being honest... *sigh*

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 Daddy died in September 2021. Dan and I split that November. Ash and I got our own place. I posted my last blog in March 2022 when I got my tattoo. It's hard to get started again. I had a flow, a rhythm, a style, and a voice. I have been struggling to remember where I was then. I finally realized that none of that matters. I was a different person two years ago. It's not about where I was then, it's about where I am now. I quit blogging because I didn't want to inadvertently turn this into a bitter, my-ex-sucks rant or an oh-woe-is-me pity party. Not saying those things didn't happen, because they did. But nobody else needed to see that. At least that's what I was telling myself. I started this blog in December 2020 after my diagnoses of lymphedema and diabetes, at the recommendation of my diabetic educator. He pointed out that it obviously helped me to write out what I'm going through and there just aren't a lot of places online where people can find s
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Can you see me now?

I've tried to write three or four times over the past few days, but I just couldn't find my rhythm. DJ asked if I had tried writing about good things. Seriously? It never occurred to me to write about good things. I write to process the things I am struggling with. So why should I write about good things? Well, because I struggle to process good things, too. When bad things happen and I'm struggling to cope with them, I have no trouble acknowledging that things are not going well or accepting that I fucked up. I expect things to go that way.  But when good things happen, I tend to dismiss them as luck. And while I try to enjoy them in the moment, in the back of my mind, I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop.  When anything goes wrong, I immediately accept the blame. I must have fucked something up. Enough people have gaslit me to the point that I fully understood not only was I to blame, I deserved any negative consequences that followed.  Being surrounded by a diff
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