I haven't written anything in a while. It's been an awkward combination of stress, writers block, and feeling like the last 21 months have either been wasted time, or a lie lived out in some strange form of bleeding, hopeless, constant fighting, too-long-upheld flight.

I'm still not sure why, or what happened, or what finally clicked in my brain to bring my true self to the surface. I promised I'd never leave unless you completely pushed me away, to the point I could no longer, despite the depth of my emotions, love you. I fought for so long, and you did everything you could to push me away, all the while insisting you were trying. It no longer sends me down that dark spiraling path; I'm climbing my slow way back up and surviving, as always I do, all the better for not having you, and your apathy, your lies, your fake attempts at assistance, your anger, your everything you (that I once held so dear), draggingme down, down, down, til I got so far I could no longer see the freight train at the end of our tunnel; I was never lost, but the darkness was so complete you were smothering me.

I've changed, I know it. You've given me the gift of knowing my own strength. Through all of it, I remained yours, and faithful. I loved you; more than I should have. I fought for you; more than I should have. I cried for you; more than I should have. I bled myself for you; so much more than I should have. When there was nothing left to give, there was nothing left for me with you.

I've tried to avoid anger, bitterness. I think, given circumstance, you cannot say I haven't done well.

I can honestly say I'm doing okay. I'm happier than I've been in a while. Memories still haunt me, but the past is the past, and I've always been able to walk away. I will give it to you; it hasn't been easy.

The drugs, the drinking, the insomnia, burning myself at both ends, none of it really means anything. I'm living my own damned life, and that's the way I want it.