For the first time since the end of last year, I’m not in a really bad place mentally. For almost three weeks now, I haven’t woken up in the morning and had to make the conscious decision not to take my own life. Life may not be perfect, but it’s slowly heading towards something along the lines of bearable to normal.
Since losing our house in Virginia in the last quarter of 2016 not only my life, but the life of my family has been in a state of utter turmoil. From sleeping in a tent, and our Ford Explorer on Christmas eve last year, to the hell of dealing with all the red tape trying to get help and reestablished in New York state, it’s been one thing after another.
While we still don’t have our own house, we do have a place to call home and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I really have a -family- where we’re welcome and wanted. There is a comfort in that feeling that I can’t put to words, knowing that I’m part of a pack. A place where my eccentricities aren’t something of a curse, but rather an accent to my personality. It fills some place deep down inside that I didn’t know needed feeling. I feel valued, and I feel loved, and it’s an amazing feeling, one I only had to travel halfway across the United States and wait thirty-three years for.
So despite the crap that’s been going on with me, I’m getting better. I’ve found another doctor that seems to actually care about me as a human being and not look down at me like I’m an abomination. I’m looking forward to, and starting to make plans for a future that I could have.
There are still some rough spots, but right now…I’m happy.