I resemble myself from that grunge/ post-grunge era in my huge, baggy t-shirt, jeans, hiking boots and pseudo flannel (I think it’s really just a shacket patterned like a flannel).
Early 90s Leah was a mishmash of preppy and girl next door.
Late 90s Leah was just plain girl on the street corner. I can admit it, now.
I didn’t actually behave like that, though. I just looked kinda slutty.
Sure, I like fish. But not always the smell of someone else’s leftover fish.
Unfortunately, it permeates the whole cafeteria.
I guess I had nightmares last night. I upset Derek with my screaming. I wound up on the couch, in any case.
I feel badly, but I don’t think there’s anything I can do. It could be a side effect of my meds, and I need my meds to be the best version of myself I can be: Leah 12.0.
I’m fine talking openly about my meds because plenty of people need them. And when you can acknowledge to yourself that you need them to feel better and be better, it really is the first step to getting better, and being healthy.
Not healthy? When you refuse to accept that you need your meds to be okay. My mother was that way, and it killed her. Granted, her problems were much severer than mine, but if she could just have accepted her need for the meds, she’d still be here.
I didn’t mean to go off on this tangent.
I’m feeling sad today, I think that’s why. Weepy, even. Accumulation of stuff, maybe.
Oh, no, you know what it is? It’s my time. The second day is always the worst.
I know this is your favorite subject, guys. Thanks for bearing with me.
I do have to go, though. Talk later.