Last weekend I inexplicably* began sobbing to Brad while I was reading my Birthday Book because all of my extended family is dead. I mean, that sounds like a joke, but I have almost nobody outside of my mother, father, and sister. All of my grandparents died while I lived in Nashville, two of them just 4 months apart. I don't talk about it ever because I thought I was really good at coping with death -- my doctor, on the other hand, explained to me that I avoid emotional confrontations with myself and focus on the wrong things in emotional situations. I'm not sure what the case is, but anyway, I was drunk as hell and sobbing while reading the attributes of individuals born on November 1st.

I think that I look forward to those meltdown moments. I also think that I used to cry too much. My parents often explained to people that I was a crier and that the littlest thing would set me off. That was probably true, but I learned to keep it buttoned up until I was in a safe place where I could blow up. It was great because I learned how to retreat to my room, or the shower, or my car and just lose my shit (in a different sense than yesterday, in which I literally almost lost my shit), but now, living with Brad, I am around another human all of the time and he has to see it.

It bums me out a bit because I'm emotional AF and people don't believe me. I'm often described as being cold and detached, when in reality I'm reeling from the tragedy of having to be alive everyday and feeling SO MANY THINGS all at once that my only defense mechanism is to look at it all objectively. I mean, my life is fucking fantastic right now, but I'm being dead serious when I say I don't know how I survived to see the day. I've lived through some dark times in my head. I also draw a lot of inspiration from that dark area of my brain and I feel like my art suffers when I'm happy. But the light side is better. I can make myself turn that light off if I need to, but I've never been able to intentionally turn it on.

* It was explicable. I was PMSing.