It seems that as soon as I get the rest of my shit together, something falls apart. There are any number of reasons for this, including the ever-popular "I'm a crisis junky" explanation. Maybe it's true, that I can't deal with my life if it's going too well. I'm not comfortable with happiness. I don't trust it. If something doesn't go wrong by itself, I've got to create it. Then there's the theory that when my body is in a physically safe environment to deal with past abuse issues, I can finally deal with them. There's not much left that I've left buried, knock on wood, but I've got to be in a really REALLY good and stable place to do it. Maybe that's why the recent bouts of depression and anxiety.

I posted a few days ago about Mother's Little Helpers. I'm almost getting to the point again where I'm going to ask my docs about an anti-anxiety pill to add to my mix. Calm those thoughts that race around in my head. Something to help me allow myself to relax and actually enjoy the peace.

I used to think that if I was ever happy the world would end. Well, I'm pretty damn happy now, and so far I'm not seeing Judgment Day. Now, if I can just figure out why the hell it is so hard to let myself be happy and accept the love of my family and friends...