DAY 25: IT’S PRETTY GOOD

No. No dad right now. He passed away from alcoholism in 2012. I still haven’t grieved for him yet. It still feels like he’s alive and he’s just there, retired at a resort, because that’s where he retired, at a beach somewhere. He drank his retirement away in a simple home at a beach somewhere. That’s all he wanted. That’s one out of a lot of things that MH (My Honey) and I have something in common with. His dad passed away in the same year, too. But, his was cancer. I don’t handle death very well. I don’t talk to about it. I avoid it when I hear about it because I’m an empath and feel very deeply and it hurts me more than the average person. Pets most especially, because my mom put my very first German Shepherd down when I was 12. We adopted her when we lived in the Middle East during the Gulf War. She was given to us by a Desert Rat, a soldier who we sponsored during Christmas. I still miss her. She was a good dog, but she was a free spirit. She dug up holes everywhere in the front yard, but that’s her thing. She was a soldier herself.

I haven’t cried in a while. I have had no suicidal thoughts. It’s nice. I like it. I’ve never felt more stable in years and I would like to keep it this way. One day at a time, Kel. But, it’s healthy to cry. Tears of joy is what I’m after. The Christmas gift that I have this year aren’t wrapped under the Christmas tree. They’re given to me, presented to me that are intangible. Love. I gave myself love, a new found respect of self-love for myself; a wonderful job with a potential growth for a career, a great relationship with MH and I have a roof over my head. I’ve got my car that I get to keep because of my job and my Wheel of Wellness can finally take off. Fly. This is the time of reflection. Exactly one year ago, I was in the Oasis and even then I was grateful. Even though I was there, it was still a great Christmas. I was amongst people who had schizophrenia, bipolar I/II, borderline personality, multiple personality disorder, dissociative disorder, depression, and in between and we were all in it together, but there were so many loving, kind, generous people that sacrificed their time with their families to be there for us. Peer counselors, therapists, people in the kitchen who cooked great meals and desserts for us, musicians, and the list goes on. The act of gratitude itself was a gift. And now, a year later, I’m here in my own bedroom, in my own cozy bed, listening to my music from my laptop at peace. There’s a lot of things to be grateful for and so, I am enjoying another Christmas at last. If it wasn’t for the program at Oasis, I wouldn’t have known how to see things in a new light. I would still have been stuck in a rut, in the dark, in a corner somewhere crying my eyes and grieving over nothing and not knowing where it was coming from.

I look forward to the new year. If this year turned out great, I can only imagine what my next year will be like because when I hit rock bottom and the Oasis nurtured me, there was nowhere else but up and onwards here I go…

Merry Christmas Eve, bitches… make it a good one.

And, remember, blow shit out of the water this Christmas and make every moment count. Because we only have one 2015 and that’s it.

Word Count: 599

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