A better me

My grandmother who lived overseas isn’t alive any longer. Sometimes I think of her, and what a long, full, rich life she had. Her life was filled with people who loved her and who would help her. I want to be half as loved as she was. Sometimes I forget that I am loved. I spoke tonight with my Poppa, who isn’t my real father, but someone who adopted me as his daughter several years ago, took me under his wing. I had no idea that someone in his own family has depression. I did not realize it. Anyway, he reminded me that he loves me, and it was nice to hear. He has four sons and no daughters and it’s nice to think of me as his sometimes-daughter. We’re both not great at keeping in touch – he had to move away out of state. But the once-in-a-while phone call is meaningful.

I went to my support group tonight. As much as I think I’m okay without it, and not going, it does help to go. It helps to hear about other people struggling the same struggle that I have, and it helps to see familiar faces. And I get to see my therapist tomorrow night. It has been several weeks since our last meeting and I am very much looking forward to it.

No existential thoughts tonight.

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