but we can patch it up good
therapy notes & journals over the span of Ian, Mickey and their children's life. Inspired by the fic 'The Good Part' by @doodlevich
CW: bipolar disorder, anxiety, mentions of childhood abuse
March 7th, 2022 - IAN
I can practically hear Mickey’s snicker about how I’m like a twelve-year-old girl writing in her diary. He’s … probably right but fuck it. Dr Grayson said I should write my feelings down, that it's easier to find patterns in episodes and when they're coming so I guess the whole journaling won’t be that bad. I did once, a long time ago. A fucking lifetime ago. It was a good outlet then, so probably will be now too. Just hope have to make sure my mind isn’t going everywhere this time. Clear head, clear thoughts. Plus, Mick always says I’m full of shit because I think we should have more hobbies than all we do is sit around and smoke all day which - i’d like to defend is a great hobby. But what’s one more - This counts as a hobby right? It should this feels like shit ton of work already. I don’t know what I’m supposed to write, I feel like that’s coming more clear with every sentence I write… Grayson said to write a full page. Why is this fucking paper so long. Ummmmm. Today’s Sunday. Pretty decent week, boring. Maybe boring is good. Mick and I signed on another farm to our schedule, they’re paying us pretty good considering they’re kinda far. They’re giving us fruit too. Like organic fresh fruit. I know is kinda trivial but I mean it’s something right? OH Lip, Tami Freddie and Robbie came down from Milwaukee Friday. The kids are getting so big. Last time I saw Tami she was pregnant and now Robbie can hold his head up. Time fucking flies. Anyway, I’m glad Lip’s back, missed him. He, Carl, Mickey, and I are supposed to go to this axe-throwing thing Carl found. Sounds like it's gonna be a shitshow but I think it’s also gonna be fun. Fuck maybe Mick was right I do kinda feel like a teenage girl right now.
Whatever. Ian fucking focus. I’m supposed to write how I’m feeling. I feel good. Better than I think I ever had. That’s a fucking crazy thought. Shit. A large part of that is Mickey. He’s in the kitchen right now, I can hear him curing at our pots and pans. Think he’s trying to figure out how to use the oven. Dumbass. We have our problems, and probably always will but that's okay. I should probably stop my fucking diary time -fucker’s in my ear- and help him before he blows our apartment up.
Final thoughts: It’s good. Life’s good. He’s good great
How am I feeling today: Good, Hopeful, Content.
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