Urgh.

Okay, so--Mother's Day? Yeah, I could do without. Particularly since it sometimes feels like that's EVERY day. (The grub-digging and lawn-seeding of last Sunday? Not medication-related--compulsory, At the Request of Mother. I -loathe- yardwork. Given the opportunity, yardwork would be completely not on my radar. But Mom refuses to just sod everything, and refuses to just pay somebody to take care of it all--so there is yardwork. Pleh, I say.) I invited Mom over and promised to fix her dinner for Mother's Day; this involves cleaning the house, which needs to be done anyway, and will also guarantee that the day is shorter than it would otherwise have been. Especially since my schedule has been grossly tampered with and I have essentially NO weekend this week, any moment of peace and quiet I can steal is much needed.

Other than that...Are things getting better? They might be. Waiting for the bus today I thought about the last time I'd waited for that bus, a few weeks back, and how horrid I felt. I feel less-horrid. I'm not sure whether what I'm feeling since the medication increase is "an increase in energy" or "agitation". I seriously don't know what "normal" consists of, and since there doesn't seem to be anything pathological about this--I can still sleep, I'm not obsessive, I'm not hyper, but I do have more motivation to do things and my body doesn't feel like it's strapped to ten-thousand-pound weights--I'm thinking I'm -SOMEWHAT- better.

However, there's still The Dream. That hasn't gone anywhere, though I wish it would go back to hell where it obviously came from. Twice or three times a week, variations on a theme: in the dream, I find out that JP was never dead, that he just faked it and disappeared to get away from me. That he never loved me, that I was always an irritant, that I never meant anything to him. Now THERE'S something to wake up from and face the day ahead. It makes me want to pry my brain out through my eye sockets with a grapefruit spoon. It kinda takes all the wind out of those promises people made to me: "Time heals," they said. "You'll be all right again someday, if you want to be." Yeah, okay--now, about the part where I'm still having nightmares fourteen years later? Could we work on that bit for a while, you think?

I'm not complaining, exactly. Well, yes I am, but I'm complaining while I'm still aware that I've been very fortunate, that things are working out incredibly well for me, that there is some kind of light at the end of this tunnel...but it's not always easy to keep that in mind when you wake up staring at the ceiling with your heart pounding, trying to remember where you are and what year it is. Things are better--at least, they're better the rest of the time. I think. The other stuff is fixable, I'm pretty sure...the self-criticism, the fear of failure, all that can be changed. So maybe things are improving--I don't know, for sure. I know I'm still trying, though.