Every time I see my story told in my head, it ends the same.
The awful stuff still happens.
I still end up here.

Dammit, I want to edit it so that stuff doesn’t happen.  Or even edit it so that I’m over it.

But it always happens. I end up here – angry and depressed and impatient not to be.  It’s been 21 months.


I am trying to remember Cheryl Strayed’s advice, including “This is not ‘how your story ends.’ It’s simply where it takes a turn you didn’t expect.”

I certainly never expected to be here. I never expected to not have a 25th anniversary party because it would be embarrassingly poorly attended. I never expected to be pitied and avoided.  I didn’t expect to be the crazy person, alone in her own head.

This stuff is all very hard to accept, but I am trying. Trying, but I am tired.