I just want to relax and sleep. I want it to be comforting. I'm not exactly anxious but I'm not exactly calm. So what is up with my head.

I don't like my body much. But I don't hate it much. But I also don't know if I'll ever truly enjoy it.

I worry about writing and showing my boyfriend because last one he said was uninteresting. I'm scared of uninteresting. Was it my writing, my words, or me? He almist certainly means nothing malignant by it, but my head is still a recovering paranoia addict and writing is its worry kryptonite.

I worry on and off about my actual writing prowess. I worry more often about finding a new novel to write. If I tell everyone tht writing is like breathing to me, then why aren't I breathing more?

I'm a little stressed about this semester. Not class-load wise, but because of the wearing down in my bones I feel sometimes. I'm just doing so much. All things I love. But so much.

I'm trying not to worry about family stuff. Its not helping me and there's nothing I can really do. Its just hard.

I can see me again. That's something that's good though. In fixing myself I lost the goofy, selfless me that used to be and I am so happy to see her again.

I'm working on my abandoment problem. I think that's why bring alone bothers me so much now. Now that I have people, and I know what its like to feel like I belong, I'm so afraid of being alone and locked up in my head again. But I'm spending more spurts alone to deal with it, and I'm not dead or abandoned yet so something must be working.

I have a gorgeous sleepy boyfriend who sleeps next to me every night. That something that always makes me smile. I may be unique and fun and cute, but it still astounds me this adorkable, brilliant, funny man likes to spend his time with me. Not complaining, but with all the possible brilliant girls he knows he meets, he picks the crazy, writing obsessed dreamer who just happened to stumble upon him. I just can't believe I get to look at his face so much. His face, his mind, all of him, it just... He knocks me out.

Things are complicated. And I'm always weary and always a tad stressed and always busy. But I'm happy too. And I'm not alone; I'm out here, for far longer than just one day. I belong somewhere, and I am loved somewhere. I my still have a thousand miles to go, but I can't believe the thousand I've made it through.

Guess I'm not too shabby, even if I am Grace from Wonderland.