Meanwhile, I keep writing. I don't post much of it, but I do keep writing.

I pour myself onto this keyboard, and then I censor almost every word. I protect the people I care about from the truth. What a fucked-up situation it is, that I keep feeling compelled to hide the most important parts of myself from the most important people.

I keep getting these fucking thoughts in my head. Not random thoughts, though they seem to come at random times. From some dark place inside me that I'd rather didn't exist.

But the dark place exists. The thoughts exist.

I am actually angry right now.

As if I have any right to be angry. As if I have any reason to be anything but deliriously happy. As if my life isn't a million times better than it was a few short months ago. As if I didn't get the two seconds I'd wanted, and a whole lot more.

As if I did anything wrong. As if this is somehow my fault.

This is not my fault, dammit!

So why am I so angry at myself?