I am happy.
I am so very happy.
But I'm also feeling the nigglings of doubt, of dread, of inevitable downward spiral. Because I still don't think I think I deserve to be happy. I still think I will make a fuck-up of anything good. I still think I will ruin things and hurt people and deny myself for the sake of isolation and cowardice and self-sabotage.
This is such a hard balance to find.
On the one hand, I have never felt so good. But on the other, I have to be prepared for it all to suddenly disappear, because it could. It very actually could, quite apart from anything I might do to ruin it. There is no guarantee here. There never has been. I can't depend on this. The very last thing you want is for me to depend on you.
On the one hand, it's so completely simple. But on the other, it couldn't be more confusing.
On the one hand, I'm okay.
On the other, I'm just waiting for disaster.