In my haste to rush out to lunch, I didn't expound on anything at all. Sometimes it's better that way, count yourself lucky.
This morning's progress concerned my feelings about Cole and how it's so fucking easy to fake the accolades for him around the children (because I have to, for their sake, and because he was a good father) and around his family and better friends but then I have a hard time accepting that he wasn't what I would like to see him as. A monster. My shadows. My fears. The personification of every fragility I hold now. And likely he is a huge part of that, but Cole had demons of his own and it's a long way back to the place where I can comprehend in my little pea brain that his monsters ate him alive, but he was not a monster.
You know what? I would spend all night here trying to summarize two hours of intensive reconstruction of my thought processes here, so maybe I'll stop with that. I can't make you see.
And believe it or not, this has little to do with the earlier admissions that my depression is as good as it's ever going to get. We simply have to learn to ride and deal with the waves as they break. Chemical and nurturing causes mean I'll never have a free pass to a permanent happy place. It's okay. I dealt with it before unmedicated, and I'm about to do it again. Only this time there's no one waiting to sabotage my efforts. Quite the opposite in my loving Jacob.
Just enjoy the wild loopy ride with me while I take a few weeks to get the medicine out of my system. Because now I'm awake. Finally.
In any case, Loch was here just for the morning, to take us out to lunch and have a quick visit on his way out west and now Christian and PJ are here hanging out and hogging the X-box while I help Jacob iron his clothes for the weekend. And these boys are trying to teach me to love Death in Vegas as much as they do.
Blissful, blissful mediocrity.