Things are getting better. Progress is being made.

Wednesday, I didn't do all that I'd plan on doing, but I did do some important things I neglected on Tuesday. The reason I didn't get reach more of my goals is that I was doing something that is ultimately more important. I was learning to be a friend and went to her house while she vented and worked through what she had to and organized her thoughts to form a plan. I ended up back at her place yesterday, where she returned the favour.

I used to know how to be there for people. I used to be affectionate and allow people to get close. I can't figure where it all started to change. I've been spending some time thinking about my past. Memories are coming to the surface that I'd repressed long ago. For a long time now, I looked at my life as if it began a decade ago, when we fell in love. I honestly had trouble remembering not only who I was before, but that I was anyone at all and I had 19 years worth of experiences. There was a time, when I lived in my hometown, that I was sure of myself. I knew who I was, liked who I was, and didn't give much of a shit what anyone thought. It was moving to Bedford and having to start over and make new friends that had me questioning myself, and doing and saying things unlike the real me in an insecure attempt to have someone like me.

My past is still very blurred in my mind. I don't remember things that definitely happened, and I sometimes think I'm making up the memories I do have the way therapy patient sometimes invent memories of abuse. I still believe, however, that nothing overly traumatizing happened to make me so scattered, so closed, so filled with repression. No, it really seems I've been fucked up since birth.

Being held like a baby and crying really helped. I feel awesome today.

Four years ago a friend became a blogger (but isn't anymore), I wrote about a party at MeatKing's house, and KC referred to me as "the nastiest chick in Halifax" at one of the only two shows the Hold and Burdocks played together.