I’ve been sort of slowing and begrudgingly begun talking it all out with myself.  Why I left, why I’m starting my life as I am.  All of the things I swept under the rug, all the things I pushed into the closet to make things okay.

I felt like everything had to be okay.

I am a capricious woman.  It’s in my blood.  Whereas I may be perfectly content to spend a moment sitting in silence, in the next moment, I will need something very different to sate my whims.  And I do need to be sated.

Okay is not generally an acceptable descriptor of mood to me.  It is not a typical mode of operation for me.  I fly into fits of rage as often as I feel perfectly content with the state of the universe.  There are days when my smiles look quite like frowns, days when I can’t be bothered to get upset, days when I don’t feel up to setting foot outside my room.  But I do not have days where everything is “okay.”

I need to feel at home in my life, I need to feel like my highs and lows are acknowledged and understood and I need to feel like I’m not slowly becoming a stranger in my own house.

And I need to feel passion going both ways.

I hope that’s okay.