Oh shit, she's rambling again.
In all seriousness, I try not to phone it in. So now that things are re-buttoned and turned back rightside-out here and I can try and fix my hair that Jacob managed to pull out, let's continue. Because I have work to do and he's already left because absolutely no one expected him to stop working and of course he hasn't, really. Today he's going to help clean two shelters and then he has fundraising meetings this afternoon. Bless his heart, I encouraged him to keep doing the things he loves to do because he wouldn't be Jacob if he didn't.
Now...have you noticed anything? Different? Like things are better lately? More better than not? Different things that we have changed and done and hardcore therapy attendance, perfect medicating and a whole lot of love and things appear to be looking up.
Up, guys. Up. Like a hot air balloon in Bridget's beautiful blue skies.
Things like not babying me, he's treating me with all the confidence in the world, a hopeful optimism and respect that I've been drawing strength from, instead of watching him conduct life strung tight as a drum and knowing he's so goddamned worried, well that only made things harder. Now it seems like he's breathing for both of us and that power and faith that I get from him is growing, spreading. Also the talking, he's talking to me again instead of being afraid to step on toes or undo any progress I may have made under the direction of my psychiatrist. He's waded back in, with his jeans rolled up and has refused to let me drown. And that has helped more than anything.
My music is back. Phish. The dozens of traded shows and the collection I built during my life with Cole that reminded me of him so awfully much that I asked my friends to take it away and when Jacob pulled it all out I didn't die when I listened. I've had a few rough spots but otherwise I realized it was my music, not Cole's, not ours collectively, but mine. It feels good. My warm bath.
And sleep. I can sleep, sometimes. Not one hundred percent, but sometimes I do and it's a start.
And hey, no one said it would be easy. I've still got a million miles to go but I've got a map and a companion or three and some tunes to take me home and we'll get there. Every day is a little bit better and sometimes I drop a bowl and it shatters and I jump and then I laugh because it wasn't thrown and the ghosts are fading and Bridget is getting there. Every day, just a little bit better.
Welcome this is a Farmhouse
we have cluster flies alas
And this time of year is bad
We are so very sorry,
There is little we can do
But swat them
She didn't beg oh, not enough
She didn't stay when things got tough
I told a lie and she got mad
She wasn't there when things got bad
I never ever saw the northern lights
I never really heard of cluster flies
Never ever saw the stars so bright
In the farmhouse things will be alright
Woke this morning to the stinging lash
Every man rise from the ash
Each betrayal begins with trust
Every man returns to dust
Or maybe this is phoning it in, for you just read a list of my transcribed renumerations and a chronic peptalk from inside my head.
Have a good day, in any case.
