I want to be able to listen to music at work. I want a soundtrack. I have bits and pieces of October Project songs in my head, and it doesn't do me a bit of good because they're only fragments. In two hours, though, I'll be in the car, and then I'll be able to listen to the songs in my head over and over until I'm satisfied.

I wrote someone a letter today. It went like this:

I read your new stuff, and then went back and read your old stuff. Very powerful. [Date Omitted] was like being punched in the stomach -- oh so very familiar, the things I think to myself that I can never say to anyone else, the fears I have, the things I remember that I've only just started to be able to talk about.

I can get angry now, a little. Only with one person, though, but I'm lucky, because he knows how hard it is for me, and cherishes it even as I lash out at him.

I can be myself, more than a little. Especially with him, but with other people. It makes things harder, of course. Easy to have a circle of friends when you find everything that isn't-you fascinating. Easy to make people like you when you change into something that they're able to like. No opinions, just feeding them. I've quit doing that now -- I think. I hope. It's hard for me to tell, of course. I fear that I'm doing it even now, and that eventually this beautiful strong relationship I'm in will turn out to be something based on falsehood after all.

I can admit that I'm not fine. Once or twice, at least. I did last summer. I did in January. I haven't since. I'm not admitting it now -- the voice in my head is yelling that I'm fine, I'm still fine. Your voice sounds like mine.

You see, this is what I should be putting into my diary, but instead I'm writing it to a stranger. And maybe once I've sent it to you I'll have the courage instead to put this in my diary, as 'This is what I wrote to a stranger today.' But maybe not. I'm so happy now, in this life, that admitting all the pain and anger and fear seems like a betrayal. Better to keep it locked away.

But anyway, hello.

Do I think about those things? Not very often. I am so perfectly functional, despite everything, and I really am exquisitely happy. I'm not recovered, but I am recovering, and that is what counts.

But admitting that I'm recovering -- admitting that I have things to recover from -- admitting that I'm stronger now (which means I was less strong before) -- it's all so damn hard sometimes. That's why you never hear about it, except when someone else's story hits me so hard that the need to mention my own is overwhelming. Like today.

Nexus tonight over at Trip's. I'm picking up Earl at work, then we're going to Thai City to get food for the crowd, and while we're there I'll run down to Lee's and pick up my comics. Then, well, gaming. I'll get to play my somewhat silly green-haired psychometric thief, which is always fun. And read comics, and work through more of Moving Mars, which is a good book, truly, but is just taking more forever.

Tomorrow I'll tell you all about David Bader. Promise.