Last week was bonkers. I was preparing to go to Chicago with my friend Shannon and Jenni. Jenni is someone that lives with Shannon. This weekend was the first time I would meet her. We all endeavored to the Hilton in Chicago to spend the night in preparation to see Sarah Millican (Thank you Chris for the tickets!).

As a rule, I don’t get excited about anything until …. right about when it’s going to happen. There have been many times where I’ve been excited about something, only to have someone cramp the excitement out of life. Like (past) Ashleigh’s mental health episodes. Me, dying… you know. Pretty basic shit, right? Well, anyway…

I am trying to choose me. Choosing me is hard. I’m still without a lot of people in my life. I took a chance to contact two people that I knew through the church for different reasons. The one person, I asked if my dad distanced himself from the rest of the family, or if it was mutual? Or if it was just too hard after my mom went into her medical situation. I felt like I was dropped on my head. Where did it originate? There, of course, was no direct answer. I can’t exactly expect them to know. A lot of conversating happened.

The next person was someone that knew my sister. I asked her some things about my sister. I was eleven when she died, so there isn’t a lot that I recall. I remember my sister watching scary movies while she babysat me. I was six years old watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail (trust me… that blood spurting is NOT how it happens in real life. As a six year old, I had no idea. It was terrifying) and National Lampoons’ High School Reunion. While it is identified as National Lampoons, there is a serial killer in the reunion. And many a classmate are murdered. Soooo… yes, a bit tense. But still, I was little.

I didn’t even know if my sister really emoted to anyone that she loved me. I don’t remember her telling me as much. Again, I was a child. We had little in common aside from being a girl and hating dresses and all things conforming to the norms.

I had a feeling contacting this person might evoke feelings. I was not sure if I would be received well, or if I would be refused. I took a shot. And instead of being refused, I was accepted. Information was passed on. Information that I can treasure for the rest of my human life. It’s immeasurable how much I appreciate knowing what I know now. And I’m sure a time will come when I think of more questions to ask her.

All this being said, contacting two people that I wasn’t sure I would be accepted by was risky. I protect myself fiercely. Which means that I am at the ready to know that I could be rejected. And while that would hurt for most people, I would likely take it harder. That’s just how I am. How I have been encoded to be.

I have been so uncertain about life in general. Once my therapist awoke the idea of perception vs fact…. and where I live within it, it fucked my world up. My mental world. I started to question myself and what I understand to be truths. Facts. And I hadn’t had therapy in quite a while – so I was starting to go a bit bonkers. And when I say a bit, I was REALLY going bonkers. I was starting to cry at work again. I thought I was being targeted. I felt persecuted almost. Even if it didn’t make sense, it was where I was. I’ve been able to communicate to my boss that I feel like when I’m at work, no one communicates with me. So I feel like that 15 year old in her room with no sense of comradery. I was alone then, I’m alone now. And Eric. Does he love me? Or is he actually just using me for the limited benefits that I have? What is this all about?

By last week Thursday, I was so fit to be unraveled. I didn’t want to talk about it, but I had to talk about it. Despite what would be interpreted by the “others” – you know…. anyone I don’t naturally trust. And since few people stood by me, I’m not sure if anyone actually does. Despite what they tell me. So, I took a chance and broke down in absolute ugly tears with my boss. Hideously ugly tears.. I left early. I took time out to sort myself out and prep myself with Shannon – setting up when and how things are going to go.

After I left work, I was still crying. I was still mortified about going home. I had an argument with Eric the night prior and I just couldn’t understand why things were going the way they were – which added to my stress on Thursday. I finally got to talk to him Thursday night. I asked him a basic question that I never thought to ask before.

Do you have any expectations of me?

In my head, I believe he expects me to go to work, to come home, to take the dogs for walk, to clean (Mostly on weekends) – meaning bathroom, laundry, vacuuming, dishes, cleaning the fridge, grocery shopping, drive everywhere, do things for myself, and not sit still for long. His response was far more than anything I expected. I cried. Happy tears this time. I was elated. I felt like – this was what I needed to hear for years. And I could finally understand why he loved me. That I’m not just a paycheck with a complicated set of neuroses.

What I want to remember – for myself is this:

I am worthy of love. The people that have not followed me have done so for their own reasons. And I cannot determine if it was something I did or not. IF they choose to continue to not speak with me (despite social media) that is on them. I cannot and will not try to engage. I need to hold my boundaries. When I feel that it is safe for me, I will try- maybe. There are limitations to what I will try. And those that I speak with at any point, I may or may not continue to reach out to. Depending on our mutual comfort level. At the beginning, mostly factoring in my own.

I am responsible for my happiness. My health and wellbeing. I am finally seeing a therapist again. And my “new” therapist says she doesn’t not show up and not tell me about any conflicts. She is good about showing up and only cancels if she has to. Will inform the client – aka “me”. Phew. Cannot handle being blown off by more than one therapist.

The new therapist is through the employee assistance program through work. So I have eight (seven now) sessions that are paid for. I have to make them good. I have to make them count. No pressure.

I need me. Others need me. And I have to ask myself why I listen to my inner critic so much. I am not who I used to be. And anyone that thinks I’m still that same irresponsible person can find a new hobby. I have to be okay with me. And I have to start treating myself with love. Eric does love me. I am safe. I am protected. And I can protect myself too. I’m worth it.