Numero Uno. Here it goes.

Today is the day. The first day of the rest of my life. I’m going to get my shit together. Start writing, start running, and make a home for my kids and me. Take back the control that I’ve lost because of depression, anxiety and my emotions.

I have a picture I cut out of a magazine that says:

“Don’t let your emotions make you their bitch.”

This is how I need to think. I internalized a lot. Especially what my ex-husband says to me. The way he acts and his emotional state affect me in ways I despise.

Why? Because we still live together.

Why? Because I’m afraid to take responsibility.

Why? Because being an adult scares me.

Why? No Idea.

I have a great, emotionally supportive boyfriend, who, unfortunately, is no better off than I am. He lives at home with his parents and brother. He was married and divorced. Has a great son. He has a job. But has no desire to change anything. He pays no bills for the house. Just his car payment and child support.

We’ve been together for a year. There’s no engagement in my near future, no move out date, no plans.

I like plans. I grew up with an alcoholic mother and heroin addicted father. I may thrive on chaos, but I like plans. I like knowing that there’s something to look forward to.  

The boyfriend, who will go by 44, isn’t 44, but whatever, makes no plans. He’s Mexican and Puerto Rican and apparently they all live by the seat of their respective pants and just let life happen.

I was married once. I never thought that, 1.  That I’d be divorced & 2.  That I’d want to get married again. He makes me want to spend the rest of my life in his arms, with his family, with our own family. Making our own plans.

Is it going to happen? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. Here’s to day 1.