But I feel good. And I JUST lived through all that shit, and I don't really know if I want to spend my time right now going over all of it AGAIN. I think I'd prefer to focus on how astronomically my life has improved and how much fun I'm having. Instead of ruminating on the nuances of my upbringing and my patterns of picking toxic people, perhaps I can spend my mental energy picking out what swimsuits I'm taking on my impromptu trip to Hawaii or enjoying evenings out with normal nice men. Live the change instead of just talking about it.
One such fellow, upon learning of some of the aforementioned 'should make me crazy' items marveled at how not crazy I seem. "Are you like closet crazy and really good at hiding it? Because.. that's a lot of stuff to have lived through." Yeah dude, tell me about it. The truth is that when people really get a taste of my family, specifically my parents in all their flawed glory in no-so-rare moments of peak nutso time, it becomes an oddity that I am not insane.
Funnily enough, my mom, the diagnosed, medicated, unable to work member of the family is outshined by my attention seeking, overly-gregarious and often drunk father. Nobody assumes she's the oddball, but the middle aged guy running across the street barefoot in camo print pajama pants on Christmas Eve to jump on the trampoline in the not-yet-met neighbor's front yard on a whim... well that gets the reactions.
These appointments keep getting pushed out and I think I'm out of motivation to actually go. I desperately need a break from magnifying the crazy, and that's all talking to a therapist about all this shit it going to do. I'll go eventually. When things slow down and I actually consider having a committed relationship to be not an abhorrent notion. But for now maybe I'll just let my garden be my zen space and the sunshine assuage my concerns.