Beginning

The lights - they make noises... humming and clicking away as thought they, too, are hard at work. Their harshness compounded by the light whirring is softly but surely boring into my psyche. "How did I get here?", I wonder.

Today I cried over turkey.
Roasting a turkey to be exact.
I'm sure it's more than that.
I don't know how to cook a turkey.

Three Days Later

I wake up in a sea of black. My entire body is rigid from sleep and terror. Sheer terror. I sit straight up, the hair on the back of my neck standing at attention and I'm gripping the sheets around me so hard that I can feel the muscles in my hands begin to ache. I'm alert and I'm sick to my stomach. Something very bad is going to happen and soon. Where's my Xanax? I'm too afraid to leave my bed so I'm still in the darkness for a very long time. I'm sweating yet I'm cold. There's a gnawing feeling of regret, dread and trepidation that I can't place but it's deep and unyielding. I'm trapped in this mania for seemingly an eternity when I get it. Someone's going to die. Not just "someone" but someone close to me is going to pass. Maybe I'm going to die, I think. Please, God, don't let it be Isaac.
I don't sleep the rest of the night. I just lie there engulfed with anxiety until the sun rises then I'm off to work. I can't function and I know I look just awful. I explain to a coworker what I had dealt with the night prior and he shrugs it off as another one of my panic attacks as I get them often. I'm thankful for my little blue footballs. The weight of my bottle in my bag makes me feel safe and comfortable and a bit invinsible. I'm not going to die. No one I love is going to be lost to me.
The night after my father died I awoke to him in my bedroom's doorway. Light shone all around him and he said, "It's not your fault, Danielle" then he was gone.

Finally

Today has, honestly, been the first day in a long time that I feel back to "normal" what ever that may be. For so many years I've felt like I had to be someone to live up to something that I'm not. I tried to cram myself into a mold that was forced upon me. I'm done. I'm done conforming.

Colors are brighter, sounds sweeter. It's easier to smile and harder to give a fuck. Today, I love this life no matter how wild and unpredictable it may be. I can't be anyone that I'm not and I'm done trying.

This is me. I'm a work in progress, ever evolving and one seriously hot mess. To be me is rather fun.