ramblings.

Finally, it's getting cold. We Northern Floridians wait for this all year. When it's 100 degrees out and we're sweating our bras through and we say, "I can't wait 'til it gets cold." And when the cold comes we complain as we slip our arms into our one warm jacket. "It's just too damn cold!", we say. And we wait until the spring comes, those days when the weather is perfect. But I think those days only last for a week. The days when you can wear a tanktop and take a blanket to the park. There's a little bit of a breeze, but the warmth from the sun balances everything out.

I thought I might be going to Cologne this year. It turns out that the family truly does need an Au pair for a year (and not six months), because it's hard on the children to see so many people pass through their lives. I can understand that. Honestly, it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. If that family decided today, yes, they did want me to be their Au pair for six months, I would have booked my ticket and that would have been that. I would have flown out to Cologne, brushed up on my German, and taken the two little girls to school every morning. It would have been like trying out parenthood. I might have really liked it. Though, sometimes it seems like I can't even be a good parent to myself. Once again, the writer realizes she forgot to take her Wellbutrin this morning. Sigh. I can't even remember to take my depression medication. How could I ever take care of a child properly?

Anyways. The depression thing. I saw my therapist a few times in November and December. She's been my therapist since the beginning of high school. In ninth grade she ordered me to pull up my long sleeves, revealing the shallow scratch marks in my skin from a safety pin. Kids really do do that sort of stuff for attention. Some don't... I was the attention kid. I've known some people who have done it to feel something and/ or just plain hurt themselves. Because they feel like or felt like they deserve pain. Perhaps it's because they've caused pain to others. It's too sad to think about.

I hit my lowest lows in middle school and high school. I've waded through fogs so thick, that it was hard to see and hard to feel the touch of a person who cares for me. I've had the thoughts, if I die now it wouldn't matter. I couldn't get out of bed in the morning. It was as if I was buried in hard-packed sand. And my mother would knock on my door, and I'd say 'Go away!', but she'd come in anyways and hug me so tight. She did everything she could to make me feel better. I changed therapists so often. "I don't like that one because she has her dogs in the room, and they smell." The mayor's wife was my therapist for a second. She was too interested in looking like she was doing something charitable that she could never actually help me. One lady was the aunt of a girl I went to school with and was always asking me about her. "How's Jan? Did you see Jan today? Here are some pictures of Jan when she went to church camp." Finally, my mother found Lee's Place. And after that, my life changed.

I'm glad I hit those lows. Because today I know what that feels like. And if I ever go there, I can get help. From my mother, from my therapist, from my doctor. I couldn't take care of myself eight years ago, but I can now. I'm learning that the pain I still feel from my past, (an evil stepmom that ignored me, or something too emotional and private to talk about) is mine and mine alone. It's not fair to burden people with it. I want to be able to talk about it with the people I care about and love, but I don't know if this is what other people do. Is it normal to want to talk to your boyfriend about things that you're working through, or is it better to figure things out on your own? I feel like I can talk about this here because it's my blog, and people have the choice to read it or not.