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It’s almost 2 AM.

I did everything today that I said last night I could do. I freaked out. I felt sorry for myself. I wanted to burst into tears. The fact that I had to chase strangers out of my backyard didn’t help.

Then a friend I called in the midst of my panic asked if he could come kidnap me for the night. He took me out, we talked about sex, we laughed a lot, and I danced until I hurt. It was everything I didn’t know I needed.

My old stories don’t all fit me anymore. I continue to try them on because they are so familiar. They are usually the first things I go to because I know them best. But they aren’t necessarily who I am now. I don’t completely believe in them.

The universe doesn’t hate me; awful things don’t always happen to me; life isn’t destined to be hard; I am not a miserable person who couldn’t find happiness if someone standing next to me pointed directly at it (and who couldn’t tolerate it even if I did find it); and I am not the same person I have always been.

I am changing. I am continuing to change. It doesn’t always feel like it; it especially doesn’t feel like it when I’m forcing my body into the stories that are too small for me now. But, it’s the truth.

I can be happy. No matter what. I can find moments of joy in the midst of hardship. I can know that no person or thing or event is able to destroy me. I can hold that I am worthy and deserving of tremendous love. I can like being me. Even if it only happens for me right now in small increments, it still happens.

I am still exactly where I am supposed to be.