I've always considered myself to be pretty tough. When I was a kid I didn't cry a ton unless one of my brothers was torturing me (in that way only brothers can). As an adult I haven't cried much either. I'm more of a brush-yourself-off-and-get-on-with-it kind of person.
But today was different. Today was the day I layed face down and cried. Hard. As though life finally caught up with me and forced me to face the gross fucking facts of it all. And you know what? It is shit, but it's not like there aren't way worse possibilities. The reality of it is that I'm pretty lucky. And still there's this little bitchy part of me that wants to have the permission to fall apart and never get picked up again. I guess self-pity is stronger than I imagined.
The end result is this: I've talked through some steps I'm gonna take to make things better. I've already started doing some and I'll keep going until shit's right again. Because I can. I have a lot of people who have my back, and it really is all situational, but not irrepairable.
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