Suck.
I couldn't sleep early this morning, and when I went back to bed, I'd written a poem (which means that Caged has finally been updated again) and actually felt like I might have a prolific day. I could hear all the things that needed to be said, and I was starting to have words to say them. Maybe I still am. Maybe it's just an issue of needing to take a shower, or eat lunch, or get outside into the once again barely-sunlit day. As for the poem, I don't know how I feel about it. Writing it was really cool. I remembered that I'm a cool, decent, interesting person who is still in recovery and allowed to still have stupid thoughts invade her mind. Just writing about how it did happen and wasn't me improved things. I guess. Resting improved things, too. It's just now; now I feel like crap. Things sucked with my dad yesterday, too. I wrote a really insightful, lovely entry about it all, and then managed to hit the "make this entry disappear as if I never wrote it" key on my keyboard. Basically, I love my dad, he loves me. Sometimes I think the only thing he knows how to say is that he loves me and that he's sorry. He would hate to hear that. He would hate to hear I had a horrible time, even though he knows. He really does try, too; he really does want things to be ok. But it's like the effort I put into recovery prior to Rogers; there's a will but there's no concept of the way. There's no idea of what skills need to be learned, what problems need to be mended; there's no idea that there are even specific problems and skills. So, he throws in all this effort, gets no results, feels worse about things, and in turn, things get worse.
And that sucks. For everyone.
I think one of the top five worst thoughts a person can have when they're feeling really awful is, "Something's really wrong. Wait. What if it's not? What if there's nothing wrong at all? What if this is right?"
It's not. I know that. It continues to suck like a Hoover.