Stress, stress, more stress...

So I call myself "batcrap crazy" on a regular basis, which may be ableist. All I know is sometimes, life hurts so much that the alternatives seem inviting.

Yes, I just "said" that out into the internet.

"the alternatives seem inviting."

As in "not life."

As in "death."

Yes. I have suicidal idealization. Often.

I have for as long as I can remember. I honestly cannot think of a day I haven't considered "not being here." And yet, I am still here. I don't know if that means I'm strong, or not strong enough. All I know is that at this moment, there is something so much more important than my stress to think of, and that is V.

I don't ever want her to feel like my life is her obligation. I want her to know that I am so truly blessed to be gifted the opportunity to watch her discover the world. I am enchanted by every new word or sign or silly game.

But she isn't all that keeps me here. It isn't fair to put my continued existence entirely in her tiny lap. I love those seasonal milestones. The cry of an excited crow. The hot weight of my cat in the wee hours. I doubt those things come with you in the next dimension.

I may wonder and dream of that redhot finality. But I stay here. I feel the tears and the shame and the fear and I battle through. I always have. And I keep going. I stare at the walls in the hours you slumber and I map my pain and wish I could paint my nightmares so you could see them. But I stay. Because I love.

I am flawed and flayed and scared and scarred. But I love.

Am I loved?

I know V loves me, today. I hope that she knows that she is loved, and can love with conviction, because that is a gift.

The Husband says he loves me. Does he love himself enough to love me? I can't know that.

But I love.

Love you.

Stay here.

Breathing.

Loving.

Living.