There are no days

I justify it this way; It's not revelling in self pity, I'm writing down the things in my head so they don't have to roll around there, crashing and clanging, with their jumbled time line swinging from sweet to sour and back; colouring everything that was once good with the grime of what came later.

For me it is finding a voice and diminishing the monsters that lurk in the silence. Now that I have started I cannot stop. there's more and more and more and if people will judge my me for my weakness in this then all I can do is show my hand again. What I kept covered so long has begun to crumble in the light and I couldn't put it back if I tried.
I was ashamed of having Herpes. Ashamed that I didn't take better care of myself and impose boundaries. Before that, I was ashamed of being depressed and taking Citalporam, before that I was ashamed that I had taken out a loan for someone who was never going to pay it back. And even before that I was ashamed of my skin, the psoriasis that welled in ugly plaques all over my body.

But it does you no good, this shame. It makes you scuttle from one disaster to the next in darkness. This is what I am. This is what I have and what I have done.
At the very least I am proud of myself for saying it.

My son told me this morning, sitting up in bed; 'There are no days. Every day is the same day, it's just the name that changes. The name of the week day or the name of the month. There is just darkness and light. Nothing else really changes at all.'

When I recovered from the shock of what came out of my baby's mouth I realised that it's true always. There is no good or bad. There is just the stuff I did in reaction to the stuff that happened. It's me that gives it a name. That decides to judge my actions as good, bad, weak, immature or responsible. And so it's not for me to judge, just to write. I'll leave the naming of what I've done to you.

There are no days.