Things are okay.  Life is going on ... day by day ... just like it always does.  I'm not depressed or having flashbacks or anything bad ... but I'm also not really enjoying life either.  This may sound like an excuse but I don't know if I know how to actually enjoy life.  I don't know what a happy person is supposed to do ... to be ... to say ... to enjoy.  I’ve put on a good “show” in the past for people, which made me look outwardly happy, but I don’t think I’ve ever really known happiness or had to deal with it.  And, yes, it does feel like something I have to “deal” with.    I know what I like so I guess that’s a start.  I enjoy being outside, kayaking, reading, music, the mountains, the ocean, hiking, driving .... yet what do I do with my time?  Nothing.  I stay inside.  I clean my house, watch tv or I simply READ about the things I like, in magazines like backpacker or national geographic adventurer. I don't do anything of value with my time and then the weekend passes and Monday rolls around, like today, and I feel unfulfilled.  I feel like I'm missing out on life.  It's no one's fault but my own.  Why don't I take the steps necessary to truly pursue my happiness?  What do I fear?  What is it about this head space, that I find myself in now, that seems comfortable ... even though it's not.  It's like sitting, resting, on a hot metal bench when your feet are so tired you can’t stand anymore.  It's like I've traded one discomfort for another.  I used to have dreams … goals … but they’ve all faded.  The things I once held such passion for no longer hold much allure.  Now I just seem restlessly content to sit on the sidelines and shrug my shoulders and say, "I don't know" when I ask myself what I want to accomplish in this life.  I used to have a passion that ran so deeply that I felt utterly broken when it finally became clear that I would never accomplish it.  I would have loved to have joined the military.  I would love to have served my country.  Failing to do so felt like a death.  My death.  I’ve felt, since I was a teenager, that that's what I was supposed to do ...lead with integrity … but I never did it.  It's no longer painful to think about failing to join ... now it's just numb.  Kind of like a hole that I have to walk around because I’ll never be able to fill it.  I no longer hurt for that loss ... but I haven't figured out what my purpose is either. Nothing burns as brightly as my military ambitions once did.    I used to feel so strongly that I had a purpose, specifically to make other people's lives better.  To help.  To make a positive difference on a very large scale.  Grandiose plans.  Now I look back on those dreams and think that maybe I am just mentally ill.  To think of myself as someone who could affect change on a national scale is crazy.    My passion for politics did help on a small scale.  I guess that’s something.  I loved, and believed in, the political process because I realized the power it possessed to make positive change.  While others worked for elected officials, not all but most, for their own advancement or gain, I worked extra long hours to help the people affected by the bureaucratic red tape of state agencies.  I didn't change the world but I did help change the lives of the people whose casework landed on my desk.  I made a difference to them and, in turn, their happiness made a difference in me.  It was rewarding work even though, most nights, I would go home and drink until I passed out.  My work life saved my life.  It gave me a purpose.  My current job gives me nothing more than a paycheck.  It’s rewarding to the extent that I can turn on a light switch and have illumination in a room.  It pays the bills.  It also provides insurance, which allows me to go to therapy. I guess that’s good in this economy. I need to count my blessings instead of overlooking them.  That said, I think my therapist is ready for me to move on.  She didn't say that but I got that impression during my last session.  She's helped me so much ... maybe she's helped me all she can.  I would understand if she said we'd accomplished our goals and sent me packing.  Maybe I should just end therapy myself and try to move on with my life.  I just need to start...   I can’t decide if my current “passion” is a true calling or just me trying to escape.  I want to quit my job and hike a trail for 7 months.  That doesn't help anyone, it's selfish.  I do wonder if the insights I gain from the experience could help others … or myself but I don’t know.  Hiking doesn't help my father.  It doesn't help my mother, who is now facing financial burdens of her own and looking for ways to secure her future.  Looking to me. I know she's worried about money and about survival, she always has been and I feel sorry for her.  They are my parents and I can't turn my back on them but they both feel like heavy anchors, pulling me to the bottom of the ocean.  Killing me ... again and again and again.  It's intersting that thought... that anchor metaphore .... since I've often wished I could just paddle into the ocean, until I could paddle no longer, then swamp my boat and tread water until I could do it no longer, then sink silently into the depths.  I haven't thought about wanting to do that in a long time ... but it just popped back into my head as I thought about my parents acting like anchors while I struggle to stay afloat.   Anyway...  as I find myself getting "better" and no longer allowing my childhood to affect me (with flashbacks & nightmares) like it used to ...  I can finally say to myself, “I was raped.”  I was brutally raped over and over and thought I was going to die but none of it was my fault and I'm not weak for being scared or feeling fear.  That was normal.  I was a normal child in a very un-normal situation and I did my best."  The darkness associated with those incidents isn't completely gone but now I can deal with it better than I ever have before.  That said, instead of feeling pain ... now all I feel is nothingness.  I imagine this is some kind of transition phase ... I can't expect to go from bad to good over night, can I?  No … that’s not realistic.  I guess this is normal... to wonder what's next while trying to transition out of the life I've been living for so long.  From living in a world of reaction and fear to a world of proactivity and light.  Nothing is ever that easy ... there's no snapping of the fingers and poof all is well.  I wish it was that easy. Then I have moments, like last night, of wanting to be physically harmed.  I want someone to beat me down … to hurt me … to break bones and draw blood. It seems that’s what I can feel.  I feel pain.  How do I feel happiness?  Can someone come beat that into me?  Those thoughts are so wrong and I know that.  I can’t talk about them … I’m embarrassed by them.  How broken and sick am I to be thinking like that?  To want to be beaten and battered?  I don’t want to be raped. I don’t associate that with feeling … that’s the opposite in fact … but I do associate being beaten with love. I just figured that out as I typed it.    I know pain.  I understand pain.  I want to know love.  I want to understand love.