Image by Getty Images via @daylifeI talked to my brother today. I haven't seen him in six months. I miss him so much. I find it hard to care that he's talking to boys on the internet. I find myself more concerned about the character of his romantic interests than their gender. I also find my lack of caring kind of...confusing. And disconcerting. It's not that I think it's okay. I still retain my personal belief that homosexuality is wrong. And he knows this. He also knows that I love him regardless. I just find it difficult to be incredibly concerned about it among so many other pressing concerns. It's not a high priority.
It was good to see my Mom yesterday too, after such an intense and long week. I felt like a little girl again. I know I've been snappy with her after having such pressure at work, but she's truly been amazing.
I am always confused by cruelty. There are times I think I am too sensitive and fragile for this world. Too weak. There are other times that I feel I am dark and twisted and capable of terrible things. I am quick to condemn. I just don't understand why anyone would want to initiate conflict and pain. I am never afraid to finish anything and can be very aggressive in defending many many things. But I hope I am never the instigator. I hope that I never create sadness and pain where previously there was none.
I'm thinking of trying therapy again. I am functional now, and by psychological standards that means there is nothing wrong with me, per se. But I feel...I could be better. I could be happier, I could be...more efficient and more productive. I need to be fixed. And I want to be. I just need to find a therapist who is better to talk to than a wall. Or the ceiling.
I should be sleeping.
I keep looking at this dress. http://shop.nordstrom.com/s/eliza-j-beaded-silk-satin-gown/3127353?origin=category&cm_ven=Linkshare&cm_cat=partner&cm_pla=10&cm_ite=1&siteId=J84DHJLQkR4-Z5L8Jmx8IWeBOvcm0rp5lg
I wish someone was online. It's 1:30 but I want to talk to someone. These are the hours that I think. Maybe it's my meds (that I forgot to take today). Maybe I would be more interesting without them. But I wouldn't be more interesting if I were dead, would I? And I don't really want to be dead. I want the chance to continue creating and learning. I want to be a mother and a wife. I want to leave my mark on the world. Whether that mark takes the form of a happy little boy or a beautiful story. Or even just an engineer who thinks a little more highly of himself because of me.
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