Not a great day. One of those ones where food tastes like unidentifiable mush, scented candles smell like poison and not wanting to soil myself is the only thing that gets me out of bed.
And yet here I am: two legs, two arms, a lovely home, blue skies, a fluffy dog at my side. A camera in my bag which is usually enough to get me moving.
But I’m at that place where tension takes me: the place where I wonder if the hardness of the past four years has been worth it. I know it has of course, but my brain likes to tell me I can’t be sure.
I managed to get dressed and tame the doc to the beach – it took four hours to get there, but I managed it. Yay, me. Woo and hoo etc.
And where I’m sitting in my car now is almost exactly where I used to sit in my car the occasions where I escaped the yelling and the threats and the doing of everything wrong. I would sit here with a beautiful beach filling my windscreen and cry and cry. And wonder where I was. Not my body, of course, but me and how I’d got into this place where I couldn’t do a single thing ‘right’ and where I would be threatened with having my head smashed in because … Well, just because he felt like it.
So clearly the past four years was worth it. Because I’m sitting here again – this time with my dog, knowing I have a resilient, loving child on my hands and knowing I can go home when I want and not be yelled at by anyone but me.
Who knew that was the height of freedom?
1000 days 