Crap, it's July. I hate July.

I hate July. It's the beginning of July and it's the end of July that sends me into fits.

I wish I could share here why I hate July, but it's not relevant to addiction so I suppose not.

Although I have my own addictions I fight all the time. I've actually had trouble with them lately, but I'm still trying.

Either way, I'm freaking out. I'm trying to get better, but at the same time... it's July.

It's the first July since having it all thrown in my face and revealed to so many people I don't know.

It's mine, you know? Like, I controlled it. I knew who knew and I knew how much and I knew all of it. I had complete control. It kept me sane.

But today I looked at the calendar in the kitchen and it's July and I have no idea who knows why I hate July and it's going to drive me insane this year.

I remember the first year my husband was here. I remember when it was only the first July I had to deal with.

He found me on the couch sobbing and begging him to tell me why people were sleeping while I was dealing with so much crap and how so many people were sleeping at night and how do people sleep at night when horrible things are going on in the world and... yeah, so I was rambling. I guess that's obvious.

And here I am. I came so far... I thought.

Recently someone called me out on not dealing with my issues but burying them. I CAN'T go back to what I was before. I can't. My family can't survive it, but sh*t... I really want to do the stuff that makes everything better.

I shouldn't want that, but here I am, weak as ever.