April 17, 2026

Dear Diary,

I've been on an emotional high for the last 2 weeks, and I feel better than I have in years.

My creativity keeps creeping up to the forefront of my brain, yet I still can't find the motivation to put pen to paper. Paint to canvas. Lyrics to music.

It's like a drug craving that I won't let myself cave into; I have everything I need to get my fix, but the fear of failure, or lack of progress keeps me from taking the next step.

My energy is sky-high. I make to-do lists, and one by one I meet my goals. I haven't managed to stick to anything for as long as I can remember. Even when I have fulfilled responsibilities, kept promises, it's never felt the way it does now.

I should feel proud of myself. I should feel accomplished. I should feel ready to keep moving forward, take the next step in the right direction, check that next box.

Is it all fear of failure? Is it fear of trying? Am I more scared to let those who love me down for the millionth time, or am I scared to let myself down for the first time that's ever meant anything to me?

I could spend the next 2 weeks doing nothing more than writing. Let it all out. Perhaps, I'll feel some relief when I decide I've finished. Unless I drain myself of all emotion, of all thought, until I feel that I've got nothing left within me, and I feel empty, numb. Finished.

I could use a friend. Some friends. People who enjoy my company as much as I enjoy theirs. People who I can open up to without ending up second guessing myself. Should I have said that? Do they understand what I mean? Am I crossing a boundary that will push them away? I need people who are human. People who aren't afraid to feel. People who aren't afraid to share what they feel, and trust me enough to lean on me when life gets too heavy. People who I can trust to lean on when my own thoughts too heavy to continue holding myself up.

I don't know that I've ever had friends. Not who didn't either need me for something, or that I needed for something. I don't want friends who serve as nothing more than a support system. That would feel like having a group of therapists without ethical boundaries. My father has been my best friend, at different points throughout my life. Not recently. I miss the side of him that isn't drunk, and would never say things to me that no father should ever say to their daughter. Every so often, I think it's time to try again, and that it's been long enough since we've spoken that I should reach out. I think it might finally be different this time. I used tell stories of all the fun we used to have, and talk about the things he taught me. Not recently. If we could go back to being best friends, I'd probably be all-in. It's probably fair to say that parents aren't supposed to be best friends with their children, but maybe things could be okay now that I'm an adult. I don't feel like an adult. I don't know that I know how to be an adult. Not a functioning, successful, happy adult. I might not believe there is such a thing.

I do believe in silver linings.

The man who wants to marry me, spend the rest of his days with me, is my best and only friend. He has been the only consistent part of my 30s.

There are days where he's all I need, and I can't imagine confiding in or relying on another human being. There are days when he feels like a stranger. Like I'm incapable of finding the right words, or constructing a coherent thought that would help him understand why I can't get out of bed. He has never known what it feels like to struggle to complete simple tasks, like taking a shower, or sweep the floors that collect dog hair so quickly it needs to be done every other day. I watch the dog hair build up. He ends up sweeping while I sleep, after waking up every day at 3 AM to start getting ready for a long day of hard work. He rides a bicycle for 20 miles each way. He usually doesn't get home until after 3 PM. That's half of each 24-hour day. That's half of his life that he spends working to take care of me, and I'm so selfish that I'm incapable of giving anything back. The most simple request feels like I'm being asked to move mountains. Why? Will I ever understand what's wrong with me? Will he still love me if I never get better? Will he still love me if I never love myself? Will he still love me if I can't show him that I love him?

Next month, we'll have spent 5 years together, with time in between that we were forced apart. I'm constantly reminded that I might not be alive today if he'd never rescued me. If he never saved me from myself.

I'm constantly reminded that he's too good for me. That I don't deserve him. That I've hurt him. Abandoned him. Taken him for granted. He should have given up on me a long time ago. He'd be so much better off. There are women who are beautiful, smart, funny, and would jump at the chance to be with a hardworking man who is honest, loyal, and truly good-hearted. I don't know how I got so lucky that he fell in love with me. That he chose me. That he still chooses me, every day.

If there's one responsibility I have to fulfill, one promise I have to keep, one box I have yet to check, it's the need I feel deep in my bones to spend every day that I'm in this body, on this planet, within this realm of existence, giving back to him every good thing, every honest conversation he's ever given me when I needed it the most.

The only goal I know I can't fail is being here. Staying here. He'll never feel alone again, if I can help it.

Every thought I have leads back to him. It can be frustrating, and I know there's so much I have to do for myself, and no one else, or else it probably won't stick. I don't love myself enough.

I love him enough. I wish I knew how to show it, how to explain it in a way that he'd understand.

I can't bear to watch him hurt from watching me hurt anymore. My lowest moments are his lowest moments, and he deserves nothing more than to be happy and free of stress. He deserves to be free of the negativity I bring to his life. He used to self-destruct, similarly to the ways I have in the past. I've wondered if maybe being with me is his way of self-sabotaging, because remaining in a relationship with someone who brings you down has to eventually lead to rock bottom. Doesn't it?

I'm terrified that this high will end like every other high I've come down from. I ride it out, and I enjoy the ride until I crash and burn. I always crash and burn, and the ride is never the same as it was the time before. I'm always chasing a high that will never satisfy me. I'm always chasing a version of myself that might not exist within me.

It's fascinating me, baffling me that I'm experiencing a high off of my own emotion and willpower. Willpower is something I've lacked, truly tried my best to gain, maybe even achieved for short periods before something inevitably makes me give up. I give up on my goals, on getting better, on everything. I've gone as far as surrendering my will and my life over to the care of a Higher Power of my understanding. I've cried on the floor, begging a God I didn't believe in to show me a sign. To provide me with any relief at all from the pain I was feeling. Silence. Nothing but crickets. God has never answered my prayers. The only good thing that God has ever put in front of me was the man who is currently snoring softly, with his arm wrapped around me as I finish writing for the night. I can only ever sleep while he's near me, but when he's asleep I'm constantly checking to make sure that he's still breathing. That he won't leave me against his will and be taken by one of his night terrors. It's an irrational fear, but his night terrors are real. I have them myself, but what he goes through in his deepest sleep is something I wouldn't wish on anyone. It's horror in it's purest form.

He's the only thing I have that I won't give up on, that I'll never stop trying to get better for. I won't let my own self-loathing, self-doubt, or my dread get in the way of the only love I've ever believed was real. The only love I could feel without any words necessary. I have to keep trying to be everything he deserves, even when I don't feel worthy of being loved by him. If I was the team mate he needs me to be, he could end up loving me more, and I definitely don't deserve that. There's nothing I could do to earn the love he gives me. It's unconditional. I always thought unconditional love was reserved for family. He's been my family, my friend, and everything in between for so long, I can't imagine being able to measure up.

If left to my own devices, I'd still be sleeping in the gutter. I wish that was a metaphor. I'm sure I'd still be injecting anything I could get my hands on into my veins, desperately hoping for any relief. For a distraction. Desperate for a break. For silence in my own mind. A shut-off switch built into the side of my skull would be incredibly convenient, even now. I might stand a chance at feeling okay one day, if that were possible.

His voice is the only thing that can sing me to sleep after nights of lying awake, staring at the ceiling, my eyes so wide and burning it's like they're screaming out for help, but my mouth never makes a sound.

His body is so warm, it kept me from freezing to death in record-breaking low temperatures the year we traveled the country together in his tiny car. I'll remember those nights forever.

A while back, he did what he felt he had to do to provide me with a home where I could finally feel safe. Where I belonged. I'll remember these nights forever.

I may always doubt myself. Doubt my worth. I've never, for one second, doubted his love for me. It doesn't make much sense, but I've never questioned it. I ask a lot of questions.

Loving him is so easy, and comes so naturally. Why can't I put my own love for him into action, and be who he needs me to be? Who he deserves, he believes I can be, and who I want to be? I'd do anything.