I do not know who reads this and who may understand it completely but I am writing from my grief, mixed with sorrow, mixed with relief, mixed with so many unidentified emotions.  At times, I just want to stand in front of the lake during sunset to laugh at the world, to laugh at life, to pity myself, and to congratulate myself.  I am officially a dense form of moisture, mixed with cold and hot.  I can no longer identify my feelings and my state of mind.  

I keep blaming him for my unhappiness and his ability to strip away my happiness upon realizing that I’ve attained something to be grateful for.  Over the years, I’ve generated a fear of being happy because I know that it would be so temporary.  The feeling would have left without a warning.  Out of reach.  Out of touch.  But now I know it’s actually me who’s eating myself away.  It must have have been easier to pass the blame to him but I am the one consuming me.