Rehabilitation rehabilitated

Ive been away for the past two months. Counting the time I wasn't entirely myself and almost consistently drunk then that's 3 and a half.rehab did me good. I didn't find a cure all for my low self esteem and my desire to chalk up more suicide attempts until the one magic ticket, but I did find processes of opening that will hopefully help me not die. This is the story of me trying to live and trying to enjoy it. Time to stop trying to die, Ally. 

Though I arrived back from Bacolod yesterday morning, I only truly came home today. I am back with my boyfriend slash bestfriend slash better half and the joy made me cry. Good crying. Emotions are health, like olive oil and cardiovascular activity. 

I'm so tired. My brain is all over the place and I am not sure what I should be doing. I feel like after coming out of rehab, after now being an alcoholic, I should post something significant or at least well written or at least proof read but we all know I won't. I'll type things in a frenzy (as I usually do) and tap post without thinking twice (as I usually do) then months later retread my whole blog in a fit of sentimentality over myself and then see mistakes everywhere and edit the posts, alwsys missing a couple (as I usually do).

But for now, I am happy. Dear sad blog, I am happy today because I got to see Johnny and he kissed me hard and I feel loved and that makes me not want to slit my wrists for now.