I took my love and I took it down.  I climbed a mountain and I turned around.  And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills.  ‘Til the landslide brought me down…  - Stevie Nicks

I reflect a lot.  Not necessarily because I want to, but because my brain won’t shut off.  Usually, I ruminate.  Focus on everything I think I’ve done wrong.  Do I take my kids for granted?  Do I take Andy for granted?  Should I be doing more with my life?  Am I living my life to the fullest?  I should exercise.  I should spend less time on the computer.  I should do more fun stuff with the kids.  I “should” on myself all the time.  I “should” all over myself.

Why is it that I tend to zone in on what I perceive I do wrong, instead of what I do right?  I don’t know.  I wish I knew.  I wish I could shut off that negative inner monologue.

I think back on my life constantly.  My twenties.  Those are a blur.  I made a lot of mistakes.  They have names like “Jeff.”  I was so naïve.  Not so much anymore.  It makes me sad, really.  It kind of sucks once you’ve become disillusioned with the world.  With men.  With people.  It took Andy a long time to knock down the brick wall I’d built around myself.  There are still a few bricks there that just won’t budge.  Someday.

When I met Andy, I was done with men.  I needed a break.  Had I known then that he was “the one,” I’d not have acted the way I did.  I had a few hunches early on that he was different.  He wasn’t like the rest.  I pushed those thoughts aside and pushed him aside anyway.

I reflect on things like all the pointless and frivolous stuff I’ve spent money on.  Tanning.  Too much tanning.  Clothes.  Booze.  Cigarettes.  I have a feeling even if I could go back in time, I’d still spend money on all these things, and not in moderation.  “Moderation” has never been in my vocabulary.  I do everything in excess.  I do excess in excess.  

I look back on all the times I’ve been mean to myself.  I am bipolar with a dash of generalized anxiety disorder and a pinch of borderline personality disorder.  I rip myself apart.  I’ve never physically harmed myself unless you count the splash of eating disorder.  I subconsciously punish myself by not eating sometimes.  I think it’s mostly the depression.  I cannot eat when I’m depressed.  I’ve never in my life thought I look good enough.  Good enough for who or what?  I don’t know.

This all sounds rather depressing, doesn’t it?  Is there anyone out there, I wonder often, who reflects and the thoughts are positive?  I’d like to learn how to do that.  How to reward myself.  How to be good to myself.  I’ve been told I don’t love myself.  To be honest, I think I love myself more now than I ever did.  I’m learning.  I think it’ll take a while before I fully get there.  Can the child within me rise above?  Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?  Can I handle the seasons of my life?

That’s something I can reflect on tonight.