Call me dumb.
Call me desperate.
Call me disillusioned.

I saw him again. I saw him a total of 3 times since i last blogged about a month ago. I knew I shouldn't have but it was so easy. The office where he works now is basically on my way home. He asked me to meet him, so I did. Of course I always do what he asks. He never asks much, but when he does, I jump.

I'm not sure why I stopped blogging. Yes I do. I felt better. The meds started kicking in, the weather starting getting nice, I started my new job, and I started being on friendly terms with him again. What do I have to say when I'm not full of darkness, bitterness, rejection, and self-loathing? Not a whole hell of a lot. So I stopped writing and I simply enjoyed the calm after the storm, knowing deep down it was probably more like the eye of a hurricane.

I realize that this was the wrong approach to me getting better. Yes, the meds seem to be helping; yes, I always feel better when I can sit outside and enjoy the sun and plant flowers; yes, I am SOOO happy to be gone from my old job and on to something new; and yes, it felt really good to talk to him again and kiss his lips. But I need to keep writing. I need something all my own, a place where I can vent and sort everything out, confess my sins and tell my secrets. I try to do that in therapy once a week, but I have to look someone in the eye when I do it, and it's frightening. 

So I am back, for better and for worse. Please be gentle.