Monday, September 3

I'm ready.

I'm ready to write about Fish. It's about fucking time, especially since I'm going to Chicago in 11 days to see him. The interesting part about it is, I have less to say about how I feel about him and more to say about how I feel about myself in regards to him. Does that make sense?

The day Fish and I spent together in San Diego was one of the best days of my life. Why? Because on that day I was my best.

My insecurities, my negative thoughts, my hurt, and my sadness were only parts of me instead of my whole being. I allowed my light to shine through my darkness and it was beautiful.

I was beautiful. I was strong, confident, and at peace. I knew who I was and who I was meant to be. Everything about myself made sense and had a purpose. I was whole and it was wonderful.

Fish did something that no one has ever done before. He made me fall in love with Me.

Best. Day. Ever.


I wish I could say the weeks since I began dating myself have been filled with those same positive feelings, but it's been pretty rocky. Honestly, all I want to do is barf.

Every time I think about Me, the chunks rise in our throat, I clench our teeth, and hope to God We don't blow chunks. We're nauseated right now.

What happens if I continues to make Me sick? Am I in a position to pursue Me so that We even have a chance? What happens if Me and I run out of things to say to ourselves? Do I even know Me well enough to be asking these questions?

My family is concerned that both I and Me will get hurt. I don't think it's a possibility considering that for Me to think it, I would know it, so there shouldn't be any surprises. Even so, I have been down that road enough to know We'll eventually be okay. It's the road where things go well that scares the shit out of Me...

I wonders if AAA gives Trip Tix to Good. Me thinks I already know Bad like the back of our hand.

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