Nobody puts baillee in the corner

I can’t handle good things happening in my life. What a concept, right? I’m so used to things being so beautifully broken and fragile that it actually gives me more anxiety when things are good.

I’ll try to self-sabotage (Hi, three bottles of wine). I’ll charge into a situation like a bull in a china closet (at least I’m a fashionable one). I’ll even watch A Cinderella Story and bawl over Hilary Duff’s plight (I’ve watched it so many times I once did a riveting re-enactment of her locker room speech at work and received applause from the entire break room).

You see, I’m so used to tragedy and trauma that it’s become second nature. I know how to cope better than I know how to breathe (I had childhood asthma). I understand pain. I’m accustomed to heart break. I’m a master of the melancholy. You get the idea.

But good things? No. And right now, things are good. I seriously don’t have any complaints (other than Oreo Cakesters still being discontinued, but that’s normal). What’s odd though is this time, I am self-sabotaging my self-sabotage.

I could have made a major mistake and screwed up a lot of good things. Quite honestly, a year ago, I would have gone through with it. I would have absolutely self-sabotaged something good because I was impatient and used to an onslaught of awful. That’s what led to my panic attack. I was scared I had completely messed up.

But I didn’t. I stopped myself. I didn’t let my own depression keep me from being happy. For once, I want to genuinely keep the good going. I genuinely like where things are and where things are going. I genuinely like the good.

I can still see the darkness peaking around the corner, but I’m fighting to keep the light shining ahead. No more  hiding. No more self-destruction. No more  dwelling.

Good riddance.