I have ten days of sobriety after a thirteen year relapse. Emotions buried away escape with every breath, when I try not to breathe they ooze out of my pores.

I'm significantly better than I was this time last year. No pills. No therapy. The clouds have gently floated away. I'm feeling something new. I think the word is hopeful.

I’m doing . . . hold on—changing a diaper. Finally, he’s taking a nap! Quick—shove something down your throat.

I’ve Evolved. I’m me, but I’m not me. I’m Mom-me.

I know enough to have perspective. I don’t know enough to understand how to move forward. I’m walking the line between anger and acceptance, love and hate, peace and turmoil.

I haven't been doing that well in my University work. I have been enjoying great books and been doing fun activities with my family. So, I guess I am ok.

I feel I'm stuck in a cyle.

I fell too hard and at the bottom, I'm held in the fog of confusion, desperation, hope and daydreams that won't come true.

I'm lost. I'm tired. But I'll fight on. Darkness lies ahead as well as behind. Might as well go forward.

Maybe I'm just a shitty person, but everyone says no because they don't want to hurt me. It's okay though, because I'm already hurting myself more than their opinions would.

The plane waits. I can't remember if I am coming or going. Is there a difference, anyway? Everyone is heading home, everyone except me. I'm just waiting to land.

2020 is coming closer. Time is getting shorter. Goals are getting reached. Something big is on the horizon. Are you ready? No. Scared? Yes. Can you do it? Yes.