While rummaging through my closet I made the spontaneous decision to take a peek inside two unpacked boxes from SFU. I had shoved them in my closet just to get rid of the memories. The contents did in fact make me cry, but I also made an interesting discovery - a brand new journal. It was a graduation present from friends of the family. It's a beautiful journal, really - hardcover of burnt orange swirled with yellows and beiges, and inside the paper is hand-made. So I decided then to transform this new journal into my "recovery" journal. I pledged in my first entry to write in it at least three times a week, expressing how I'd been feeling and what things I had done to make myself feel better. I will insert uplifting stories, poetry, anything I can to end each entry positively. The last thing I will write will be something I am grateful for - you know I've always wanted to start one of Oprah's gratitude journals :)
So I ended my first entry: "Today I am grateful that I found this journal, so I can finally complete this long road to recovery".
Today I only thought of him when I woke up, but not at all when I was at work, which I think is a good sign. Stupid fucking loser.
Michelle says the best sign is when you hate him so much you just want to kick his ass everytime you see him...after that, it's pretty smooth sailing.
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