Day is done. I’m in therapy, working through my issues. To have someone hear me in my presence. This is better for me.
I’m not that nice girl I tried to be. I’m frightened, angry, a mess, a drunk. I conditioned myself to be good, to meet expectation. I conditioned myself as a reaction to the messages I heard in the words and deeds of people around me whom I wanted to please.
Just as I work this out, just as I start to find a way to be better, to correct mistakes I’ve made, just as I begin to feel that life will improve, the opposite is true.
I’m not nice. I’m not good. I’m me. Sometimes nice, sometimes good, sometimes not. I might seem sorted. I might seem reliable. Sometimes I am. Sometimes I need someone else to be sorted and reliable.
I’m not as interesting as I like to think. Because we’re all like this. All nice and not nice. All good and not good. All sorted and reliable and falling apart.
This is the last post. I need to talk this out, not write it down on the internet of self-centred self-indulgence. It will be okay.