Sigh.

I was just about there, at my "finish line."

I was beginning to tell my story (for the hundredth millionth time) without the onslaught of overwhelming emotions and memories.

I was ready to walk away and leave it all in the past. Kick it to the curb. I felt READY.

I thought I had perspective. Oh sure, I knew it would come back to bite me, but I was confident enough in my progress to believe it wouldn't break my skin.

I was actually sleeping. Without nightmares or fear. My muscles relaxed a teeny bit and I was able to tell when I was holding my breath or when my shoulders were up past my ears. Anxiety wasn't my driving force. Unheard of.

T and I were doing relaxation exercises which is a BIGGIE for me. It's something I've been unable to do because I wasn't comfortable closing my eyes in front of her (or anyone except hubby) even though I've been with her for nine years.

Trusting. I tried it.

I was holding others accountable and getting mad at them not me. Another biggie.

I wasn't so discouraged about the future and really felt I could cope. I wasn't looking over my shoulder or hanging from the ceiling at the drop of a pin. I think I might've even felt happy. I think I let a sliver of love in, even if only for a moment. It felt warm.

I was just about there, at my finish line.

Intellectually.

But the pin dropped and I'm back on the ceiling, right back where I started.

No wait. Worse.

Petunia