I married a stranger, two years ago, and our son is now a beautiful bubbly two year old.
My soon to be ex-husband leaves my home on Saturday, and my son and I begin our life together.
I was right — I am so much more than a pretty little housewife. I’m a mother, I’m an anarchist, I’m a 10 thousand mile coast to coast multiple times hitchhiker and train hopper. I’m an artist. I’m alive.
I’m a sociopath who cares a little about just the right things for my life to make some sense, some times.
I was right — It DID take almost a decade for me to know mature love. It was worth it, on every level.
Every repressed memory, every sleepless night, every heartbreak got me closer to the person I really think is *my* person. I get chills thinking about all of it — I was right about LSD being the key to leveling up too.
Good god. I haven’t read this blog in years, came back in October of 2019 during an episode and wrote apparently.
I remember the girl who wrote these things like an old friend instead of a stranger from another land, now. I remember why and how she became so sad, but I stand on the other side of memory lane stronger and more in touch with myself than ever before.
People tell me you figure yourself out in your 30s, and maybe that’s still true. I know I started a lot younger than most, because I experienced the loss of a life in my womb at 14 years old. I’ve made it a point not to talk about that situation except for when it’s unbearable, but I think I’d like to write about my life now and muse over it all for a while. I have time, and money, for once. I’m careful and smart and getting things together at 22 instead of 36. I will break the god damn cycle.
Much love, always, dear readers. I don’t know if any of you are still around, but know I am well in mind, body, and spirit.
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baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
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