It is freezing in the house. I totally didn’t want to crawl out from under the blanket. Scarlet was even curled up with me, being a personal space heater under the comforter.

I’m awake though, and after a little while I got up. Still no coffee in my system. Sort of thinking about running up to the store since I’m going to be sticking around here until the weekend.

That would at least give me something to do in the morning. Some small routine to cling to. And caffeine… Sweet, sweet caffeine.

So with all of the writing that I’ve done the past two days, I never explained the issue with my mom’s car. At least not the story of what happened with it Sunday.

We made the call Friday to have the car looked at Monday, so we were going to drop it off at our mechanics shop Sunday night after my mom got off of work.

Well Saturday night was the whole situation with Warren, which left me emotional raw and unable to sleep. I was still awake when my mom left for work.

About 10 minutes after she left she came back into the house and said that the car wouldn’t shift out of park, and could I take her to work. We went out and tried getting the car to shift again and it wouldn’t work.

Thinking about how much of a hassle it would be for my mom and myself, dropping her off in downtown Charleston traffic, trying to find a spot to pick her up, having her stand out in the rain while we try to find each other, I asked if she just wanted to borrow my car for the day.

Her car is usually fine once the air warms up, so it’s not like I would be without a car, eventually, and I was already planning of not hanging out with Joey for breakfast. The lack of sleep, all of the emotions… There wasn’t a way that I would be worth anything as social companion. And I know he would pick up on the fact that something was off with me.

I so was not in the mood or ready to talk about what happened with Warren and I.

Mom agreed to take my car. I felt bad because I told her it needed gas. I had planned to fill up on the way to breakfast. There was no way it would get her to work without running dry.

She said that was fine and that she super appreciated being able to use my “adorable car.”

So mom goes off to work, I come back inside and curl up in bed, warm, surrounded by darkness, exhausted, and continue to emotionally process the tangle inside me.

About thirty minutes later I got a text message from my mom saying that she wasn’t on the schedule to work at the hospital today because it was the holidays. Since she picked up Christmas day she had Sunday off.

So that entire headache to get her to work and it was her day off. XD

She did say that she totally had no problem filing up my car. I guess it only took $18. I love my car so much.

I was passed out by the time she came home, but once I woke up we agreed that we aught to try to get the car to Henry’s, our mechanic, rather than having him tow it.

Eventually, after we had pretty much given up, the car shifted into reverse and we dashed off to get the car to the shop.

So it should be getting looked over shortly. We were told it would be about a 3 hour job, so we should have it back, in tip top shape, by the end of the day.

Oh, Life. What a sense of humor you have.

Joey and I reschedule breakfast for dinner tonight. We haven’t agreed on where or when, but I’m hoping for Waffle House, and it will have to be after 6 since he works this morning.

I finished off his cross-stitch. Finally. I can take that off of my list. I finished the Summer cross stitch too. I’m going to try to go to the library and see if I can’t get a scanned image of both of them.

There’s another super small cross-stitch that I might do before starting Jace’s. I haven’t made up my mind yet. Those are the only two projects that I have with me to work on.

Now that I think of it though, the only other unfinished project I have is the Tiger at home. So I’m doing really well at getting caught back up to ground zero.

I haven’t read more in my book, but I listened to a lot of Mocking Jay yesterday. I think I have about 10 chapters left. They just got attacked by the Game Makers in the Capital. So things are getting tense. It was hard to put the book down.

I’ve been thinking about what happened with Warren.

We texted a little bit yesterday. I started off with saying that I didn’t think I would be able to do anything with him and Amber. And that I was sorry.

If I couldn’t handle the situation with just him then I don’t want to get someone else involved. It’s supposed to be a warm experience. I don’t want my insecurities to blemish the experience for Amber. She deserves for it to be pure.

I think the main issue came from my need for the event to be cathartic, and Warren’s need for it to be more of a revelation.

He needed for it to be solitary afterwards, a chance to reflect and to see how the situation aligned within himself. He needed to focus on himself.

Looking back at it, I actually feel it was wrong of me to want the closeness. I was expecting something, and I shouldn’t have. I should have had the mindset of providing him with what he needed. I was putting my needs first, and honestly what I wanted wasn’t really a need.

When we had been cuddling on the couch, that had been amazing for me. I wanted that moment to last. That was what I was craving. When I cried and explained the hurt from Jarrett while he held me I had a sense of healing. Of accepting that there could be affection without sex. Just like before.

Maybe it would have been better if we hadn’t had sex. But it’s something in the past, and wondering how it could have been different is a bit of a waste of energy. We can’t change it, and I don’t think I would really want to.

We both found out things about where we currently are in life. And while it hurt a lot afterwards, I think I’m ok.

I think realizing that it truly wasn’t intentional hurt on his part helps a lot. It really seems to be a sensitivity that as developed due to previous experiences with other people. It is a trigger within myself. Something I should be conscious of, aware.

In the text messages Warren asked if I was ok. And I answered honestly by saying that I didn’t know. I hurt, but I knew that it wasn’t his intention, and that I was sorry for that, too.

He also apologized. For a while we were silent, then I asked if he was ok.

He said yeah he thought so.

I asked about Amber.

He said she was fine aside from still feeling sick. I guess she has the head cold that is going around. Which is another reason why I haven’t seen her. None of us wants me to get sick… again…

I still don’t really know where that leaves me. I still feel like I have a puzzle piece in my hands and I haven’t placed yet. Something hasn’t clicked inside me though I think realizing the differences in our needs is a step in the right direction.

The pain is gone, so I am left wondering if the feeling of being wounded was real. I’m not used to pain going away so fast. But it feels like it was there. If feels like there is a new band of scar tissue over my heart. Very faint, like it has been healed for years, but how is that possible? I only received it two days ago.

It’s odd. I don’t think I have any memories of a situation like this. Of something healing so fast. Does it have to do with how I have reconciled the event in my mind? Is it because I seem to have come to terms with it so fast? Does that prevent the emotions from getting a foothold and infecting my spirit?

It is curious and another thing I am pondering over.

If coming to terms with an event is the key to recovery then maybe I can really be ok. Maybe all of those subconscious thoughts of always being broken are wrong. Maybe I really will be able to drive this poison out.

Right now when I think about my inner spirit I get a picture of myself, circles under my eyes, sitting in a wheel chair, a hospital gown draped over my hunched form. I look sick, ill.

I think of myself as an invalid. That is the image I have of myself.

I know that’s not what other people see. But that is what I feel. That is what I wake up to in the morning, what I fall asleep to at night. This feeling that without extreme care and attention that I might slip away, unable to fend off this sickness eating away at me.

I feel like this vacation was my checking myself into the hospital. Me acknowledging that I need help, I need to heal.

I’m supposed to be a warrior. I’m supposed to be strong, a fighter. Not weak and frail.

Which makes me think of what the term warrior actually means for me.

I have fought for so long, I have gathered so many wounds, and maybe I use that word to freely. Maybe the imagery for that word is too much. I have scraps and bruises to go with the slash marks. Some things have hurt worse than others. Not everything was fatal. Not everything is an infected, oozing gash.

In fact, very little of my marks are in that state anymore. This journey has been something going on for about a year. I feel I have made incredible progress, especially because I remember how low I was when I dated Warren #2.

I remember when he said he was embarrassed to be seen in public with me. How because I was overweight and he knew that bothered people, that people thought I was ugly and unattractive, that it bothered him.

I remember how it felt to legitimately be suicidal. I remember how low I felt, how completely, utterly alone.

I remember how sitting still took so much energy. I remember how it felt like nothing else existed. I would see the cars driving under the bridge I was standing on and not thinking of the people in the cars. There were no other people. I was alone. Alone with what felt like us unbearable hurt. Betrayal.

I had thought he loved me. But my very existence brought him dishonor.

It didn’t matter that I was going to the gym. I didn’t matter that I had already lost 10 pounds.

None of it matter. He said I wasn’t doing good enough. I wasn’t good enough. Just like when my dad had left. It had been my fault. It was always me. Something about me was always wrong.

Too needy. Too quiet. Too ugly.

None of my effort matter. It was never good enough.

That was what was in my head. Those were the thoughts surrounding me. Whispering between my ears. Voices that only I could hear. Destroying me. And I would smile and say I was fine when someone asked how I was.

I would lie even as I was crumbling on the inside, alone, and no one knew.

And all of those years ago I remember fighting, with myself. I wouldn’t give up on myself even though part of me had. Half of me, standing there, lifeless, accepting that everything was pointless. That if only the fence over the bridge wasn’t in the way, I could just end it and not have to keep struggling to fill my lungs with air. All of that effort for a pointless act that meant nothing.

I remember screaming at myself in my head, forcing myself to wake up. Forcing myself to shower. Forcing myself to eat. I was not going to die. I was not going to give Warren #2 that satisfaction.

I fought.

I fought so hard to claw my way out of that darkness. Broken. Bloody. Dying.

Furious.

I would not die. I would fight. And I would win.

And I did.

I am here. And while I may still feel like I am weak and frail. While I may still have issues and wounds to heal from Warren #2, and now Jarrett and Sir as well, I know where I started, and I know that even in my current state, I’m really not all that bad, and I am doing amazing.

In my head, when I think of myself as a warrior I think of my Gaelic roots. I think of a physically fit, powerful fighter. Confident. Self assured. Ready and willing to fight any enemy without hesitation. A bow over my shoulder, a sword at my hip, my falcon on my arm as I stand in front of an Elder tree, my long waist length curls braided loosely down my back.

It is such a stark image compared to my wheel chaired self.

I am taking steps to get there. My ideal self.

It is not unattainable. But it will take time. More time.

And that’s ok. I have years of situations to work through. Things from my childhood, things from my dad, things from exs. It’s not meant to be a fun or enjoyable process. Healing never is.

It’s long, most of the time slow, and frustrating because you want to be cured now. Right now.

But if this past event with Warren #1 is anything to go off of, it’s that even though it hurts, things can completely heal. It’s not a lost cause.

I’m not a lost cause.

I make mistakes. I make choices that sometimes don’t have the outcomes that I thought they would.

I still love myself.

I have been listening to Sinking Stone on repeat for a while, and I honestly didn’t know why. It’s not a song I have associated with anyone, but it has been speaking to me so strongly.

I think, now, after having written, it is me talking to myself.

Yes. I can love you again. Our love is not a sinking stone.

And I think the puzzle piece I have been fidgeting with just clicked into place. One step, one piece, closer to me.