Over coffee, I’d mentioned that I hadn’t posted to my blog in months. I was worried about offending some folks who might read it. Well, I’m over it now.
Here goes: I landed a spot to live after six grueling months of on-again, off-again situations that aren’t worth going into. I am with two roommates; each of other worlds.
My roommates are kind beings, sort of aliens to me, as I am not so sloppy and don’t touch what I didn’t purchase. It’s taken me some time to adjust to say the least. I still have mini meltdowns. Perhaps it’s my nature to explode from time to time. I’m making peace with the uniqueness that is me.
Two things: I am on a regimen of psych meds built for a superhuman. I am excited about the way they’re working. The other is I’ve got the correct insurance to be covered by in order to receive what I consider excellent psych services.
I get to attend group therapy four times per week and I see an individual therapist weekly. All is needed to deal with the circumstances of life, to be certain, and the fucking shit I carry from childhood trauma.
I still attend the meeting for writers on Tuesdays and have begun reading a book on Nonviolent Communication. I practice mindfulness on a consistent basis. In April, I will join the church I’ve been attending the past few months, as it feeds me like no other.
I am not sure if I am happy with the fact that I am on my own, but it was a necessity. Becoming independent, setting boundaries and practicing Self care are all new to me. I must be making it because my chronic suicidality is kept at bay .
I am wondering what feeling at home feels like to most. It’s much more than four walls and off-street parking. The joy and blessing of having my Tommy Boy by my side; my forever friend and confidant. Having a church family, being accepted as trans there, can’t be beat.
All in all, I am more content than I ever imagined I’d be, moving forward and doing my best to not live in the past. That is good. Life overall is good.