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When I write I am me. Perhaps because it is the one time I allow myself to think. Instead of focusing on the day and the next thing on my mile long to-do list, I allow myself to be real.

I've had a difficult few weeks. I just feel lost. I know where I want to be and I haven't a clue how to get there from here. Sometimes I even have to stop and remind myself that there is more. That I cannot settle. And I have to remind myself why I am continuing on-why I continue to hope that it will get better- when it hurts so to do so.

I wanted things to be different when we went to Ohio this weekend and it wasn't. The feelings. The fear. The hurt. The humiliation. The anger. It all slapped me accross the face. A jolt I wasn't prepared for. Perhaps I should have known this would happen. I can't expect to snap my fingers and change my world. But how I had hoped I could.

I still go through most of my days attempting to forget the emotions that are bound up in me. I don't know how to let them out. I guess I just want to be able to do so and still feel "safe" and I don't think that can happen. (not safe in the sense that nothing can hurt me but safe in the sense that my world won't topple if I let someone in, if I get mad or if I cry).

At the end of each day I cannot help but feel frustrated and dissapointed at my feeble attempts to be me, to heal and to do more than survive. And this is building. It's my perfectionistic side. I set out to do something and when it doesn't work out as neatly and nicely as my mind says it should I just shut down again- perpetuating the whole thing.

I think this weekend was just a big blow to me and I am struggling to recover from it. but it is only Monday, so maybe tomorrow ;-)