Easter Sunday, on the way home from A&J’s house, I had a purely, amazingly, lovely, Velveeta moment.

My head was resting on the passenger-side window, the sun shining warmly on my face. None of us were talking, and I shut my eyes. We were rockin the oldies on the radio and (wait for it….) Tiny Dancer by Elton John came on. This happy confluence of music, light and relaxation transported me back to my mom & dad’s old, puke-green station wagon, driving home from an outing to the beach, basking in the S. Florida sunlight.

For those few, brief minutes I felt like myself again. All the bullshit dropped away – even the last vestiges of pretention at hipness which might have stymied my enjoyment of such a schlocky song. I didn’t care. I felt wrapped in comfort, safe, and at ease. It was like I got this little glimpse of who I used to be, and who I really am, underneath all of the anxiety, pain and neurosis. I remembered what it was like to be carefree, to be happy.

There is a danger inherent in being too self-focused. Maybe it was needed, for a time, when I was more in crisis. Now I’m realizing that all the analysis, the searching, the thinking – it isn’t really doing me right. The one thing that consistently helps me is contact with supportive people. This blog has enabled that for me, in a big way – but it also enables my sitting around the house way too fucking much. I need to get myself out in the world, and get busy.

And I also think I need to reframe the way I think about myself. I am not broken, or fucked up, or in need of fixing. I’m still the same person I always was – but I’ve gotten twisted up in my head somehow. But I’ve noticed that when I just let go, and just be – I’m absolutely fine. Right now I’m somewhere in the middle of those two places, struggling to find my way back to  the girl who knew how to go with the flow. I’m starting to think that I’m making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be.