celebration Soma Yesterday I met with my favorite doctor. The one who writes me little notes for little miracles. She's not my favorite because of the medicine, though. She's my favorite because she listened to me. She helped me. I feel normal when I'm in her office. Yesterday she pointed out that it had been 5 months since I last mentioned feeling impulses to kill myself. 5 whole months. When she said that, I realized that was longer than ever so far in my life, if we're only counting months after I came into the full curse of my womanhood. I wanted to celebrate the achievement. But who could I tell? Almost everyone always treats you so weirdly when you say such a dark thing. Do they celebrate? Commiserate? Sympathize? Empathize? Neutralize? There's no way to explain casually that even when I wanted to die, I never really wanted to die. English does me a disservice there. I never really wanted it in my soul, I only ever wanted it in my mind. See? There's no way to explain that I could rationally tell it was just my biology functioning poorly, sending escape plans with terrible goals to fears that were real or imagined or past. So I'm here, and I realize I have been sad because I see myself changing, and I'm scared. Who am I if not tears and fears and feelings? I'm still grieving that I can't be the person I want to be — some days more than others – and maybe I always will. I hate those little pills, as much as I love them. I guess I should talk to my therapist about that more, but it's such an old topic on self-acceptance and compassion towards the self. But all said and done, I'm happy. So be happy with me. Celebrate that you are here, even if it's been painful. 241114 what's it to you? who go blather from