It sucks that this is my happy ending


One day,
about a year after going N.C. I woke up -
and ah - fuckity fuck fuck fuck!

this was the next day of my happy ever after.

Actually its a pretty nice day.
The birds were giving it some song - the sky was blue - I had no plans that couldn't be put aside for some  "me time,"
and yet,
still,
hanging on in there is that horrible sense that this is really not what a happy ending is supposed to look like.
There were supposed to be more.....well...lottery wins.

Saul on the road to Damascus moments, when relatives who hadn't given a shiny shit about me so far, suddenly realised that a little time spent making me happy would pay dividends.

Those so called friends, who I oh so sadly cut away, when I realised that they didn't value me in the way I deserved to be valued  - would wake up to find me rich and famous - and be madly jealous ( the lack of wanting to be rich and famous doesn't preclude me from thinking this is a reasonable outcome here for some reason)

And did I mention the lottery wins?

But actually its just another pretty nice day, and its only me who's thinking this is not quite right.
The new normal won't settle down and be quite as shiny and happy as a storybook ending should be.  Narrative certainty is a bitch.

I am travelling in a helix - by which I mean I feel I have trudged a long way - uphill - and yet managed to go in circles, and be directly above the same place I was several times already this year - and yet still be further away from it.
I don't usually write how I'm feeling right now,
but,
I think as I have been going through this process I have been unable to find any kind of time line for what this process might look and feel like -
and as I approach a year I do feel like I have gone on a wild internal journey.
There have been dragons - fair maidens to rescue,
evil queens - banishments,
revelations,
and heroes - so many heroes - several of them have even turned out to be me !

There  has been no map though - it was a pretty blank piece of paper with the words "There be monsters here" written on it,
and yet a year ago I chose this journey rather than staying where I was.
I feel like I have torn chunks out of the world,
and yet no-one but me sees it.
The birds still tweet.
The sky is remarkably blue,
and I still haven't won the lottery.

Its odd to have gone on a journey like this - and realise that it fundamentally doesn't affect anyone but myself.
I guess my Family of origin might have  had to adapt too. But only to the extent that I wasn't available for conveniently direct abuse, and that they may have had to discuss my shortcomings amongst themselves rather than having the opportunity to give me more direct feedback.

I have though about some things in a great deal of detail,
started to spot the scrabbley badly thought out untruths,
the inconsistencies.
Untangled some of the truth of me from a web of misdirection and self serving lies.
Introduced myself to the world all over again.
Stopped apologising.
Made new friends.
Accepted compliments.
Forgiven myself randomly and completely.

Grieved extensively for what I hadn't had,
and moaned to myself about what hard work this was.
Laughed and celebrated when I realised how much better my life already was.
Seethed with silent jealousy about conversations I can't join in.

Endlessly not talking about all this,
not because I don't know where to start,
but because I dont know where to end.

I have found support from strangers and discovered that some friendships were my real family.
Cried more than I ever though possible.

and keep looking at my feet because I am this person
only this person - and I am good enough.










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