My mind is a place of poison, a desolate wasteland where nothing good can grow

My mind is a place of poison, a desolate wasteland where nothing good can grow. I keep denying myself the truth and manage to convince myself of un-truths that are ridiculous and dangerous. I do not know why I do this. I think someone described this as "self sabotage." Why would I want to do that? Make myself miserable on purpose? That just seems in itself strange and so bizarre. I think it has something to do with being a worry wart. I need to stop this. It is not only unhealthy, but my fears may become a reality if I am not careful and cautious. I would be devastated if my nightmares became my dreams, polluted my dreams and aspirations and wishes. I do not want that to happen. I will stop this.

Because I know that I am lucky. I am fortunate. I have every reason to be happy. I am doing well in school and with even more effort I can ensure that I will receive good marks again. I have wonderful friends. I have a family, although fractured, if we pull together, we can glue ourselves back together. I have a dog again and come November, Thanksgiving time, he will have been with us an entire year. I dug up a piece I wrote about him the day before we went to pick him up from his foster mom. It made me realize something about how I had been looking at relationships. I did not know if he was going to take to us, although I had a feeling, an inkling. And he did. He wanders away, but we always get him back. I do not know or understand or can possibly comprehend why he insists on taking walks without a chaperone. It is illegal and he keeps forgetting the way home, but we remind him.

I said it myself, "You are going to be an adventure."

That is precisely what my relationship is. I want to see it through. In the sun I can feel the warmth of how he makes me feel on the inside. So that I feel enveloped and wrapped in sensations that only the feeling of sunshine on a receptive, living body can feel. That is how he feels. That is how I feel. What I hear is not what I think or what I fear.

I miss him. He misses me. I love him. He loves me. This is what I know. What is real. Whatever goes on in my poisonous mind must be cleansed completely so that this remains truth and fact. Fiction is strangely influential, but I cannot be swayed. I do not want to be. My greatest enemy is not what I cannot control. It is me.