houses

So. Mom talked like she might move in with Laura in the future, but that she doesn't want to sell her house. Which means I might get to live in it by my lonesome. Which would be cool. Weird, but cool. I haven't lived alone, ever. I think I can hack it. It'd still be weird.

I always hated it when Jacob was gone in the middle of the night. I hated being alone at night in our first apartment. It was so open and we lived in a sketchy neighborhood. Like the kind where there are homeless people who get the cans out of your trash and prostitutes who set up shop in the alley behind the apartments across the street and there are gigantic drug busts in houses a couple blocks away. Oh, yes. And someone breaks into your friend's apartment and rapes her. Fun stuff like that.

Wow. I haven't thought about that in a really long time. Kansas City is kind of a messed up place. It rubs off on you, a little. Fucked up shit happened there. Stuff that I don't think about too much anymore. Except for late at night when I'm avoiding sleep and homework.

Oh, lordy. I was so unhappy. But not all the time. It's weird. Such mixed emotions. It was amazing. It was awful. I can't separate the experience from either extreme. It was a roller coaster. Makes sense. I have bipolar disorder. Hadn't been diagnosed yet. I was medicated. And in therapy. Cognitive Behavioral. Maybe that is the wrong kind for me. Although, my therapist did teach me about deposits and withdrawals and shopping for groceries that aren't there no matter how many times you look for them. And other things. Thereapeutic things.

I also feel fine about not seeing a therapist right now. The last time I was in therapy I was starving, more like I was allowing myself to be starved. But I changed the situation and got over it and I've been pretty great (with bumps, of course) ever since. I talk about my feelings all the time. With people who give me really good feedback and who are awesome and kind and loving. I feel like a therapist would be superfluous.

i'm on this list called lucky

I am a very fortunate person.

People love me.

They care about me.

They think I'm cool and awesome.

I won't say that I have it easy. I assure you, I fucking don't. Easy is not a real thing.

But. I am lucky.

Lucky as shit. I'm like a four-leaf clover wrapped around a rabbit's foot attached to a horseshoe I'm so lucky.

But maybe luck isn't real. Maybe things just are what they are, and I have a good life because I've worked my fucking ass off to get to this point.

Nah. Surely luck had something to do with it. I wouldn't be the amazing person I am today had I not been born to my equally amazing mother. That seems an awful lot like luck to me.