Out

I woke up with your voice in my ear, saying "Let's get out of here!" It was a dream, and it is why I woke up. I never get invited, these days. Too much of a hermit. I am trying. I am in therapy. But you have to want to become a new person. That scares me. Change. Newness. The Great Unknown. I wouldn't have gone. I am much too comfortable in my own misery, alone and longing. When I'm old and grey, I will have nothing to fondly look back upon. I actively try to forget it all. Good or bad. It helps that my memory is lapsing even now. Dissociation feels swell, in the moment.

Yep, you win. I'm out as soon as humanly possible. You want to hurt me? You want to call me a burnout? I can't stop you. But you better enjoy it while you can, because you've driven me out of the house, and by proxy, out of the county, region, and state. Not that I'm bitter about leaving. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. I'll be walking along, remember I'm basically getting a second chance, a chance to go somewhere and not be known first and foremost as a drug addict, as a fuckup, as a crazy girl and I'll do a little dance. . I'm leaving most of my ghosts behind, and the ones I carry with me, I do so for a reason. I will be able to find employment again. I will have a bank account, I will have money. And I will be just fine, sober. I won't have to sneak in and out of my own house. I'll learn to stop flinching when people move quickly. I've stopped flinching once, I can do it again. I will NOT be defined by my bad relationships, my bad choices, my addiction, or my miscarriage. I won't pay in blood and bruises for having my father's eyes. Shit, when I go home and the person I live with is there, I'll be happy to see them, and they'll be happy to see me. This is an insane concept, to me.

The fact that there's a potential relationship down the road is just buttercreme frosting. Of course, I tend to crave buttercreme frosting.