It's the night before Thanksgiving (not as exciting as the night before Christmas), and I'm feeling a tiny bit pensive. I've had blessedly more free time and less panic this week than I thought I was going to have, but it's still been emotional and stressful. It's been a long run of business, almost all of it in a good way, but still a long run. Not enough down time, not enough time to just exist and decompress. I didn't get any of that this week, but hopefully I will in the coming weeks, and I at least didn't have more stress added to what already exists.

So, Thanksgiving, right? Thanksgiving is when you're supposed to think about the things you have to be thankful for. And this year, I'm trying to be thankful for the bad stuff. I know that sounds odd, but in spite of all the wonderful, amazing things that have happened this year, and all the many incredible things I have to be thankful for, it was a fucking hard year. Jack's unemployed status ran all the way up to the point that we damn near ran out of money. Things almost got really bad. Then, too, there's been a lot of uncertainty and the job he does have is one that makes him unhappy. I uncovered years of physical and emotional abuse at the hands of my mother. I'm still dealing with the fall-out from that in many different ways, and I expect I will be for quite a while to come. I've had to pretty much completely reorganize my plans for the future, and accept that at least some dreams are going to have to take a back seat while I pursue degrees that will allow me to be a contributing bread winner to my household. I've had to let some relationships go a bit, step back from them for my own good, even though it left me feeling guilty and sad. Hell, even the relationships I want to put time into and foster have suffered a bit this year, as distance and time get in the way. I'm seeing people in a new light, and a lot of the time it's actually really painful and really disappointing. I'm seeing myself in a new light, and a lot of the time it's really scary. And it's easy to be thankful for the good stuff, you know? It's easy to think about and say that I have wonderful friends, and a husband who is blindingly brilliant and stunningly patient and unbelievably kind and who makes my life better than I ever thought it could be. It's easy to think about (well, at least some of) my family and say they make me laugh so much and understand me in ways no one else will. It's easy to be grateful to not have to worry about money, and to be able to go to school, and to be living the life I want to be living. I think about those things pretty regularly, honestly. I'm grateful for the good stuff a lot of the time.
What's not easy is to think about the bad stuff, the hard stuff, the really challenging stuff, and be grateful and thankful for that. But I am. I'm thankful that I've had the ability and the opportunities to grow the way I have, even if that growth came with growing pains. I'm thankful that I've had moments of stress so high and so intense that I honestly though I wouldn't make it through with my sanity intact, because now I can look back and know I did things I didn't think I could do. I'm even thankful for the relationships I've moved away from, painful as it is, because they weren't good for me, and the ability to actively remove unhealthy things and replace them with good is such a wonderful gift. I am thankful for the challenges, because every single one that I meet and get through with my feet underneath me is one more piece of evidence I can hold up to myself on my dark days and say "Look! Look. You did these things. You can do these things. Keep moving."
So thank you, Universe, for my friends and my family and my home and my stupid dog and my Christmas decorations and my BBC and my parties and my husband and for snow and for rain and for sunshine and for grass and for trees and for the ocean. And thank you, Universe, for the tears and the anger and the pain and the fear and the frustration and the stumbling blocks and the hard choices and the disappointments and the rugs pulled out from under me and for hard lessons and for stubbed toes and for scary car trips and for family bickering and for out of control emotions and for an imperfect life. Thank you.

The difference between experiencing mental disorder and having a rough day is the level of control one is capable of exerting over one's thoughts and actions (note that I left "feelings" out of that. It is exceedingly difficult to control feelings, and often detrimental. What is important is controlling thoughts and actions).

I realized the other day that I do much more than I realize or give myself credit for in order to remain stable. I often talk about methods to avoid/control/handle depression. Depression, for me, is easy to talk about. I understand it, how it works, what it does, how to keep it at bay, how to survive when I can't keep it at bay. It doesn't hurt to talk about it, and it's not dangerous. I have lots of coping mechanisms, lots of helpful advice, lots to say about depression.
I don't talk about mania. I don't talk about how I keep it at bay, or what it does, or coping mechanisms, or anything. I talk about warning signs, and going back on meds if it gets bad enough. Some of that is because talking about mania feels dangerous. If I reminisce about it too much I miss it. I could trip myself into a manic episode without trying very hard at all. Not always. Not any given day of the year. But some days. Many days. It would be terrifyingly easy to talk myself in the direction of a manic episode. More if it, though, is that I don't know what to say. It felt to me like the mania just... stopped. Or, just lessened to the point that it wasn't that much of a fight to stay safe and sane. It felt like it just happened. Like I didn't do anything. So how could I talk about it? How could I give advice? How could I take credit? And some of it did just happen. My symptoms are simply less intense than they used to be. The depression isn't as bad, and the mania isn't as bad. But I realized that I've actually been doing all sorts of things to keep the mania from taking over without even realizing it most of the time.

See, it all centers around control. There are thoughts I don't let myself have during the spring. I just stop them in their tracks and turn away from them. There's music I don't listen to, and books I don't read, and people I avoid. There's even a way of thinking and speaking that I don't let myself do. I just stop it. I'll hear it creep in, and I'll make it stop. That's control. That's the choice that someone who is not yet experiencing disordered mentality or emotionality has. See, at some point, that ability goes away. That choice isn't there any more. You lose the part of your brain that is even capable of saying "No. Don't think that. Don't hear that. Don't do that. Don't go there." While I'm still in control, while I still have choices, I'm not disordered yet. It's only when I stop exercising that choice that I slide into a disordered state of existence. And then I'm stuck there until the cycle runs its course.

It's Fall. There's a cycle to the Fall depression. That cycle is getting easier and easier to circumvent. It'll always be work, and I'll always have more bad days in the Fall than other times of year, and than your average person, but I'm okay with that. I take my vitamins. I make sure my husband (and my family, and my friends) know upfront and early when I'm having a day where I'm less in control of my emotions than I'd like to be. I'm starting to see another part to it, though, that might be even more important. I actively do not let certain thoughts take hold. I keep dreaming about my ex-boyfriends. I even contacted one of them. But that's it. I put a stop to it there. The dreams keep happening. I keep right on missing Kevin. I even had a dream about Drew. And I sat here this morning and I thought about my dream with Kevin in it and I thought about looking him up on Facebook for the umpteenth time and I thought about who would be at the Halloween party that I might be able to ask about him and I.... stopped. I stopped and I took a deep breath and then I let it go and I made myself let go. I made myself not. Not do that thing. Not get on that ride. Not indulge in those thoughts and those feelings and certainly not do those actions. I exercised my ability to choose and I chose not to repeat harmful behaviors. That is the difference between being disordered, and being a person who is having a hard time. Choice. Right choices. As long as I keep choosing, as long as I exercise my ability to choose early and correctly, I won't be disordered again. That is the power I have. Not every disordered person has this power. That's the point of medication for a lot of people; it doesn't fix everything, it just gives you your power of choice back. But I have this power. I hope Devin eventually realizes that he has that power, too. I hope Sarah can continue to use that power. I hope I get the chance during my life to keep talking about this, and to help other people understand how important choice is and just how much power one can have over one's own state of being, even if one has a mental disorder.

I had this big, huge post I was going to write full of imagery and cleverness and words and stuff.

You know what you get instead?

I FUCKING HATE SCHOOL >:0 щ（ﾟДﾟщ）

I FUCKING LOVE MY HOME 8D ヽ(´▽`)/

And my husband is a wonder.

That's it.

I miss Kevin.

There. I said it. I've avoided saying it for a long time, because of the danger those words used to hold. But I do. I miss him. And it's not dangerous. It's not bad, or wrong. I don't pine for him, or long for him. I don't miss him romantically or sexually. I miss him in a simple, uncomplicated way. He was, after all, the central facet of my life for several years. And I'm never going to see or speak to him again. And that sucks. For me, that sucks. I'm not good at people being gone. I always wanted us to be able to be friends, and I always truly believed we would be, one day.

I want to talk to him. I don't want to see him, because that would be awkward. Not painful, or dangerous. Just... awkward as fuck. I do want to talk to him, though. I want to hear his voice so I know if he's lying, and how alright he is. I want him to tell me about his baby. I want to hear that he's learning how to be loved and be loving. I want to hear that he's successful and happy. I want to hear that, against all odds, he's fighting the sociopathy and being a decent person and a good father. Those are the things I hope for him, but really I just want to hear him tell me how he is. If things are bad I want to know, and offer kindness. If things are complicated I want to help look for a simpler path, or at least provide a moment of uncomplicated laughter. I just want to hear how he is. Who he is. I want to talk to my friend Kevin, because now he could be my friend, because now all the danger's passed, but it's too late.
I want him to know about me, too. I want him to know that I'm well; that I'm whole and healed and that I regret nothing. I want to complain about New York to him. I want to tell him about Mom's crazy, because he'll laugh and say something wildly inappropriate that no one else would ever think to say. I want to tell him that I'm doing well in school, and what my plans are for the future. I want to tell him that I'm really, truly happy in a way that I didn't think I could be, and that if there's hope for me there's hope for anyone. I want to tell him that Drew is dating a transgendered person, because he'll laugh himself sick.

All of this wanting is pointless, but I can't help it. Sometimes I still dream about him, and the dreams make me miss him. I think, in a weird way, what I really miss is the friendship we almost had. I don't want him. I don't want anything other than exactly the life I have and exactly the man who has me. But I miss Kevin, and I miss the friend he could occasionally be. It hurts me that I'm never going to speak to him again, and I would speak to him again if it weren't for Jack, and that sucks a little bit too, except I wouldn't be able to want to speak to him this simply were it not for Jack. So. And that's... it. That's a part of who I am. I'll miss him for the rest of my life. And it sucks every so often. And that's all.

It's Saturday afternoon and my husband is still very much asleep in the bedroom. Things feel peaceful in the apartment. It's nice that things are peaceful. It has not been a peaceful week. There was some insanely bad badness between Jack and his mom this Sunday past. I don't feel like going over it again; I've talked it out as much as I can, but there was an altercation and Jack and I both left shaken, triggered, and in Jack's case very, very hurt emotionally. He's been distracted all week, which is beyond understandable given that he's trying to decide if he needs to cut his mother out of his life. He's sad and hurt and thinking a lot and I hurt for him and I wish I could fix it and I can't. Also, because of the nature of our relationship, when he's having a hard time I'm automatically having a hard time. His state of being has a massive impact on my state of being. So while I'm trying to be supportive and understanding, I'm also roiling with emotion and feeling incredibly unstable and off-balance. Then, of course, feeling needy and irritable and unstable makes me feel guilty, because this week (and the next few) aren't about me. Right now is about him, because this is his tragedy, and I have no right to try to make it about it me. I think I've mostly succeeded. I don't think it'd be possible for me to succeed all the way, you know? But mostly, I think I'm doing a good job. Last night we drank and talked and relaxed, and it was one of our perfect nights where we talked about people and books and concepts and us and it was just right. I needed that, and I'd bet he did, too.

And now he's still asleep at almost 2 in the afternoon, and I'm glad, because his brain needs time to process things and he hasn't been able to give it that time. So the apartment is still full of the good vibes of last night, and even though the day's half over, for us it hasn't truly begun, and once in a while I think that's more than okay, it's sort of lovely. Today it's sort of lovely.

I feel like I got my shit together this week, and it's a good feeling. I've already got a pretty decent rhythm going for school (at least until exams come around, ha), and while it does take up quite a lot of my time, it's not overwhelming (yet). I discovered last week that I no longer fit into my fat jeans (well, okay, that's an exaggeration, but my fat jeans [10 instead of 8] are pretty tight on me and not all that comfortable), which means it's time for me to do that thing I do. There was less of a meltdown this time, which I'm proud of. I think I've accepted that this is going to be my pattern. I'll get down to a comfortable weight, stay there for a while, lose some discipline, (usually get injured and stop being able to exercise, sigh) put on ten pounds over two or three months, and then get back on the pony and lose it again. I think I can handle that as a pattern. So this week I really threw myself into it. I found a training program on my running app that lays out the workouts to do every week for two(ish) months, and I really like the program, and I've actually managed to stick with it. I've run twice, lifted weights once, did an hour of aerobics yesterday, and today I'll do a half an hour of core. That's the pattern, five days a week, two running, three working other parts of the body. It's perfect, I love it, and I'm thrilled that I'm already working out five days a week because I said that once I wasn't really working anymore I needed to get back to working out more or less every day to keep the fat at bay. And, as always happens with me, almost the instant I start exercising my desire to shove every piece of food in my mouth every moment of every day completely evaporated. I'm drinking green shakes 4 or 5 times a week, keeping my calories to around 1200 every day, and while the pounds haven't started melting off yet (it almost always takes about two weeks, and then there's a sudden drop) I already feel way better about myself both emotionally and physically. I'm actually fairly proud of myself.

Ah, and just as I was about to go check to make sure he's still breathing, I think I hear the man stir. I'm off to live life.

I'm feeling very sanguine about my life these days. Not just where my life is going and what's happening in it, but the realities of my status and the role(s) I play. Being away from home is great, because I can fulfill the roles of Supportive Sister, and Caring Daughter, and Cool Aunt so much easier from afar. I can give them all what they need, and then retreat, and recuperate, and bitch to my husband about what a fucking mess everything is over there. I feel pretty secure in my role as Student and Bartender. I know what I'm doing there, and I can keep doing it as long as I need to.

I'm also feeling better about my role as Slave. Which is odd, because in general there's not a whole lot of kink or even sex happening around here. Jack's still recovering from the blows being unemployed for so long dealt him, and we're busy a lot (which is a shitty excuse, I know), and so there's just not a ton of sex. A little more lately than a few months ago, but still not much. Mostly we're partners and housemates. And it shouldn't be possible that without having been beaten in MONTHS (I'm not actually counting it up, but, like 8 or 9 months), and without reinforcement, and without much of anything at all except a desperate desire to please and be pleasing that I should be capable of moving towards "better at this." But I am, somehow. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I'm not sure what started it, but I have been, and it's been good thinking. I realized that there are a lot of things I get hung up on because it makes me feel... undervalued. Put upon? Something negative and along those lines. I get irritated that he doesn't put things back where he found them. I reorgainzed the sink in the bathroom, and every single time he walks in there he moves shit around and leaves it scattered all over the place. I worked really hard to make it look nice and neat, and to feel good, because an organized space feels better and is better for mentality and whatall, and he just throws shit around and why am I the one that has to constantly follow around after him putting things back in their place? Why can't he just PUT SHIT BACK?!? Why can't he just put the fucking soda can in the fucking recycling? WHY?!? And so I started to wonder why that stuff makes me so angry. I do the laundry, and I do all the dishes, and I do all the cleaning, but A) I'm home a lot more than he is and B) I'm a slave, I do things to make his life better. That's my job, and I like that job, I want that job. So why do I resent it sometimes? There are a couple of things. One is, for some reason, in my head there are some things I'm supposed to do and some things I'm not. Which is absurd, of course, because I'm supposed to do whatever he says I am. But there are categories in my head. Picking up his soda cans is not something I'm supposed to have to do. He's a big fucking boy, and I'm not his fucking mommy, and I shouldn't have to clean up after him. If he leaves shit smears in the toilet (which happens OFTEN) I should be able to count on him to clean that up, because FFS it's SHIT SMEARS ON THE TOILET AND CLEAN UP YOUR OWN FUCKING MESS. I'm not supposed to have to do that for him. So what I've been working on doing is tearing down those categories. See, I'm supposed to be doing WHATEVER the fuck makes his life better. I'm supposed to be doing whatever he wants me to be doing. He doesn't care if the soda cans pile up until he gets around to putting them in the recycling bag. I do. So it's on me to deal with that. If he doesn't want to clean the toilet, and he wants me to do it instead, even though I'm not the one that makes the mess? Then that's what I'm supposed to be doing. Easy in principle. Difficult in practice. I have a lifetime of preconceived notions in my head, a lifetime of what I think this TPE relationship should be. Putting that aside takes some time. But I'm doing it, and it's not as hard as I'd've thought. A fair amount of that is because I stumbled across this really cool, fascinating, enlightening concept of the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. It's making it a lot easier to readjust my thinking and attitudes. My story can be that of the disgruntled housewife, or it can be that of the contented slave. Well, when you put it that way, who the fuck would actually choose to be a disgruntled housewife? So I choose contented slave instead. I remind myself that ultimately, what I want to do is please him. And, because we are all driven by selfish motivation, that the more pleased he is with me, the more joy, affection, and treats I will receive from him. Everybody wins!!

And you know what?

It's working.

We clash less, he praises me more, and we're both happier at home more often. Everybody wins.
I fucking love it when I can use my powers for good.

Finally. I finally have some real down time. Some quiet. Some time to relax. Summer class is done, everything is set up and ready for Fall classes, which don't start until the 23rd. I'm only working one day a week because of said Summer and Fall classes, so for these two glorious weeks I have very little responsibility and a whole lot of time. It's been glorious. It's been luxurious. I've been loving every second of it.

Annnnnnd now I'm bored. lmao. Turns out my limit is about three days. Three days of not much of anything at all, and I'm a jittery mess. I'm thinking too much. I can't find enough things to do. I'm lazy but restless at the same time. It's terrible. (It's not really terrible. It's pretty funny, actually.) On the bright side, my foot FINALLY seems to have healed, so I've started working out again. Every muscle in my body is pissed as hell at me right now because I forgot that I was starting all over and it was incredibly difficult and disheartening and now I hurt, but at least I started again. And since I have all this free time this week and next week I should be able to get a good head start on getting back into the swing of not being a fat ass.

I'm going to Denver next week! Jack is getting sent there for the new job, and since it's in between Summer and Fall classes and we actually have some money now I'm going with him. He's so wonderful for spending the money to take me with him. I could have handled it. I would have figured something out. I would have found a way to be okay for an entire week while he was gone. I know I could have. But he's not going to make me. I cried a little bit after he bought me the plane tickets, because I realized that no one has ever treated my attachment issues and neediness as something legitimate, and deserving of consideration and care as opposed to something that needs to be gotten over. It's not a problem or an issue to Jack. It's just a part of who I am that he accommodates. That is such an incredible feeling. I am so lucky that even now, even after we're married, I am still sometimes left breathless by how much he loves me, and how well he makes me feel known and loved.

I'm excited for the trip. I'll drop him off at work in the mornings so I'll have the car to go exploring. Kyle's in Ireland while I'm there, which is like a god damn fucking Greek tragedy, but Taylor's house sitting for Ky and Alan, so I might see if I can meet up with her one day. I'm also going to bring my running stuff, because I absolutely need to get back to running, and Denver has lots of nice parks and places to run. I've also been using this time to start getting back some of my Japanese skillz. I've more or less re-familiarized myself with the kana systems, and it's just about time to get out the text book and start working my way through it. I'll bring it to Denver, and I want to spend at least two hours (not consecutively) every day while we're in Denver. If I'm going to be in shape to get through 102 I have to start working now, because I basically have to re-teach myself everything I learned in 101. So Denver should be pleasant, because I'll have productive things to do to keep myself feeling good, and also time to explore and lounge. I'm excited for it.

Jack's new job is pretty awful. He's angry and frustrated every day when he comes home, and he's been there less than two weeks. I knew it would probably be not a great job, but I didn't think it would be this bad. I feel terrible, and it really, really worries me. We've already talked about him needing to get his resume redone and back up on the job sites. He's so unhappy here, and I really thought it would be at least tolerable. I feel guilty, because I wanted him to take this job so we'd have some security. And I still think that the benefits and stuff are worth it. Knowing for sure that he will keep getting a paycheck until he gets another job seems worth it to me. But I'm not sure he thinks it's worth it, and I'm not sure he would have taken this job if it weren't for me, so I feel really miserable when he comes home upset every day. Like part of it is my fault.
He remembers to try to make the most of it on some days, though. And he's told me several times in the last week and a half that I'm the thing that keeps him going, that I'm his reason and his world, and that he'd never have gotten through the unemployment or be able to get through this job without me. That is a wonderful, amazing thing to hear.
We've also both been trying to remember that, whatever unpleasantness the job creates, having the income and the security really has already made life better. We can go to the movies and out to dinner on a Friday night with no anxiety. The grocery bill is no longer panic-inducing. There's no more guilt over buying ourselves things that we want but don't need. And some time near the end of the year we can start to think about the future for real. We can start thinking about and looking at places to live that aren't here. Even if we don't move for another year or two, we can start looking. So much anxiety has been lifted off of us, and all these things we've been talking about have moved from "some indefinite time in the far-away future that doesn't even feel real" status to "sometime in the next year or two" status, which feels great. Things are finally moving forward again.

I came on here to talk about all sorts of things that have been kicking around in my brain, about damage and surviving and changing and getting better, but none of that is what came out, and I want to go do some cleaning so that I can feel physical and productive for the day, so it'll just have to wait for another day.

I've been watching Black Box. It's not very good. It's about a doctor of psychology who has bipolar disorder. They frequently fail to properly show what mania looks like, although they try very hard and occasionally almost succeed to get across what it feels like. There are moments, however, that almost can't help but ring true. And one or two that seem to do it on purpose of their own accord. Most recently, Dr. Black says that she is focused at this point solely on survival. Her psychiatrist asks her if her survival is at stake. Dr. Black replies, "Always."
I remember that. It's a strange thing, though, because I remember it as though it is a past-tense feeling, which it mostly is, but it also is not. I imagine it's a bit akin to what a recovered alcoholic feels like. My survival is not on the line at any given moment on any given day anymore, but there's always that chance that it will come back into question. It could be at stake. I could go crazy and jeopardize everything.

"Are you off your meds?"

I remember being asked that over and over and over. Every time I was less than emotionally balanced and stable. Sometimes the answer was yes, but not always. Sometimes I was just having a hard time. Sometimes the answer was yes but I said no anyway, because I resented the question, and so much more than that I resented the implication behind it that I couldn't be stable or acceptable or okay without chemical aid. Every time Dr. Black is asked that question I cringe. I remember.

My little cousin came and spent the week with Jack and I. Actually, all the cousins came up for a night or two, and then Katie stayed for the rest of the week and Morgan stayed the following weekend with her. We sent them both home earlier today. It was exhausting. I am very, very happy that we got the time with Katie, that Morgan and the cousins want to be here, want to be around us, allow us in, and look up to us. It makes me feel good. Lord, but it's exhausting. It sets up all the echoes. Xander's angry, swaggering arrogance. Morgan's fear. Charlie's desperate need for attention. Katie's... everything. It wears. It rubs old places raw in new ways. It brings up old, ugly, painful wounds that I keep thinking have scarred over, but they never do. I remember. And it hurts.

The fear and the pain make me angry, and I lash out, which makes me more afraid, and then I get angrier and...
This is also exhausting.

So I am taking a step back. I am taking some breaths. I am re-centering.

And I am remembering.

I remember what it felt like when the drugs first started to work. Like breathing fresh air after being trapped in a swamp for gods only know how long. I remember hating the drugs even as I loved them. I remember feeling weak for needing them. I remember when I stopped feeling weak and just felt... I don't know. I just hated it. I just hated needing the meds. But I knew I did, and I made a sort of peace with it. And I got better. I stayed on them.
I remember going off the meds the last time. I remember that it was scary, and I still lied, and I still wasn't doing it all the way the right way. But I did it. When the depression came on I fought it off or I lived through it. When the mania started to come on I channeled the energy as best I could, and I watched so very diligently for signs that I was out of control and needed the meds again.
Every year the depression is easier to manage, and the mania is nothing but occasional flashes and whispers now. My disorder does not control me. I'm still afraid of it. I'm afraid more often than not. But my disorder does NOT control me. I remember that. I will remember that.

I remember being afraid all the time. Every minute of every day. Fear, always. I am still afraid. I'm afraid a lot. But I am not always afraid anymore. There are moments when fear is absent. There are moments I feel only safe, and only loved, and only that all will be well and all will be well and all manner of things might be well. That is a thing to hold on to. When the fear comes back, I will remember that there are moments without it now. For now, that is enough.

It's an uphill battle. I think all of it's an uphill battle, honestly. Disorder or no, being mentally healthy, learning yourself and becoming the best version of yourself... it's an uphill battle. Sometimes the hill is so steep that it seems pointless or like too much work. It's not, though. It's just really fucking hard. It's worth it, though. All the tiny steps and little victories are actually grand and glorious when you consider how many people choose to never try for better. It's worth it.

Married life is wonderful.

But absolutely no less busy than life before the wedding, somehow.

Things are booming along. They're great. I've been crying a lot lately, but objectively (and in reality) life is wonderful.

I'd really like to come talk all about it soon. Maybe this weekend I'll have time, as it seems Jack's coming down with a cold so it's not likely we'll be doing much of anything at all.

Eventually. Eventually I'll have some free moments, and I'll come blather.

Right now I'm procrastinating finishing getting ready for work. So... I guess I'd better stop doing that.

I was browsing through Jack's old LJ entries, 'cause I couldn't remember if I'd quite caught up (and also to see if maybe he had posted anything since we met, which he hadn't), and it looks like the woman he dated before me was an astrophysicist super model. I'm not kidding. Neither was he. I knew he had dated someone who both a genius and a model (I'm pretty sure I knew that, anyway) but somehow knowing that that's what I was being compared to when we met..... o.0 How?? How did I ever manage to land this man? And I know that's not fair, because Chris isn't really the sort to compare current girlfriends to past girlfriends, but still. Like. Damn. He was dating a fucking astrophysicist super model (which sounds like something that shouldn't even be possible in real life. That is a person who only exists in a rom-com, and not even as a main character because it's too unbelievable to have them as a main character) and then he was dating me. And in his mind I'm the better choice. It makes me feel a fantastically strange combination of insecure/inadequate and, like, just the best thing ever.

This will be the last time I post as a "single" person. I'll be checking off different boxes on surveys and official forms. I'll be going by a new name, and before the summer is over I'll have a new name. It'll be a little while before Chris' name is officially changed, and I have no idea what his plans are as far as adopting "Jack Sterling" as a monicker before his name is legally changed, but I've already started thinking of him as Jack and Chris fairly interchangeably in my mind, and I'm going to start calling him Jack as soon as we're married. In my heart I'll be the new person "Nikki Stango Sterling," and I would hope that in his heart he'll be the new person "Jackson Christopher Sterling," legalities taken care of or no.

This time tomorrow I'll be married. I'm excited, but it also doesn't feel quite real yet. I'm not sure it's going to, honestly, until it's done. Maybe not until the reception. Or after the reception. I don't know. I feel so much more calm than I think I should. I've been waiting for weeks for the freak out to happen. And I guess sort of, a little bit, it did. I had a lot of dreams about Kevin the last week or so. Really intense Kevin dreams that Chris was also a part of. It was pretty awful. Also pretty obvious, y'know? Almost fucking cliched. I guess it's not true that I haven't freaked out at all. I had a day or two of real nerves. Sort of a battle between the people that I used to be and all their fear, and the person that I am now, and what I know is right. I can't say that it took all that long to sort out, though. Still, though. It's all been pretty smooth sailing. In some ways it almost feels like I cheated, or something. Thought I guess that's not entirely fair to either one of us. We've both worked amazingly hard to get to where we are.

Y'know, I really thought I had stuff to say. I really thought I wanted to make "one last post" before I got married, and wax nostalgic, and say all sorts of stuff, and I just... don't. I want to finish painting my nails, so I'm all prettypretty. I want to maybe play around with my eyeshadow a little more, see what I like for Sunday. I want to do the dishes, so they're out of the way. And I want to be with my guy. Tonight's not a night for writing about life. Tonight's a night for living it.

I'm gonna go get married, guys. And then I'm going on my honeymoon. So you all take care. I'll be back in a couple weeks.