Despite What Blooms.

I gave a reading tonight, and debated on reading the heavy poems. I decided to read them anyway. After, a woman in her 60s came up to me and thanked me for telling her story. She made me tear up. I keep thinking of a poet and her wise words when I asked her how she does it. How she can read the poems, how people can hear the words, the truth. Now I understand. My heart has been so heavy lately. My friend's brother dying, a friend's child in the hospital, the bombing, a coworker's mother in the hospital, my mentor's grandfather dying, and now this woman. I just can't.

Last year I wrote a poem for my friend/mentor who changed my life in undergrad. The woman who I exchange letters with, who loves animals, and sunshine. The woman who has survived so much, and wrote her way out. She was the first person to tell me poetry can heal, and that she believed in me. She has since the first workshop with her. I finally gathered up the courage to send it to her, at a time she needed to be reminded that writing is the way out. She said she was honored. She said a bunch of heart warming things. Then. Then she said the book that started my healing is being reissued this year and in January when she sent in the proofs she had mentioned me in the acknowledgements. I am so incredibly moved that she thought of me like that.

I have three poems up over at spider mirror journal. One is the poem I never thought I could write.

I've been promoted at work. My anxiety is preventing me from seeing this as a good thing.

Mood Problem ADHD (inattentive diagnosis) PTSD we increased the adderall. I like her.

I see my new legit psychiatrist in the morning. I'm nervous, but hoping she will listen. Maybe I'll finally get a diagnosis too.

I emailed one of my favorite poet's thanking them for their work. I'm so nervous.

Hi yes. 2017 will forever be the year I kicked ass, wrote my way out and survived to talk about it.

ALSO, the manuscript was rejected from yet another publisher. So, that's cool.

They decided not to terminate me. I just need to get through one more day and I will have my meds again. I start with a new doc after this appointment. Moving to 12 hour shifts at work the week before Christmas. Still can't write, but I've been able to read some. Talked to A briefly the other morning and he can't write either. Maybe SAD comes with poetry too. We bought new pots and pans and dishware.