Thursday, late October.
Today we walked down to the wharf with
Daddy and had coffee on the way. I want to show him I am making an effort.
That’s about all I can do. The mornings are so nice, so disconnected with the
horrible thing I have become. In the mornings it is like it is us again, I am
me and the world is good, full of infinite possibilities. I will be a good mum
and you will be happy and sunny and squishy always.
We had a shower and feel all nice and
clean, put perfume on. This is progress and a sign of a good day. I am so
ashamed of myself.
I made some calls, asked for help. Despite
all the talk there is actually not that much help available, but just asking
seems to make me feel better, so maybe that it the point. That would be absurd,
but yet is the logical conclusion to draw from being handballed around but none
the less feeling a bit better. Which is the exact opposite of how one feels
when trying to change flight reservations or get legal help.
What do you hide and what do you just
accept? Its ironic that the worse it gets the more it makes sense just to let
it out. One can get beyond the hiding phase. I cant be bothered to hide much
anymore. Im not doing great.
