11:54

Dear Diary (or should I call you my partner-in-crime at this point?),

It's been a hot minute since I've spilled my guts to you. I've been avoiding our little heart-to-hearts, not because I forgot you existed (how could I?), but because I've been wrestling with a beast that's a bit bigger and badder than I anticipated. This whole "embarking on a journey to mental wellness" gig sounded noble and all, but damn, I'm about ready to hang up my boots.

Here's the raw deal: I've been told this path is supposed to be enlightening, healing, and a bunch of other positive adjectives. And maybe it is, for some. But for me? It feels like I'm trying to rebuild a house that's been torn down by a twister. You know, picking up the pieces, trying to figure out which part goes where, only to realize I'm missing some pretty damn crucial bits. My family, my job, my house, my car, my pride, my hope, and last but certainly not least, my dignity. They didn't just wander off; they bolted like bats out of hell.

So, here I am, wondering why I'm even bothering. It's like showing up to a gunfight with a slingshot. Sure, I've got something to fight with, but it feels kinda inadequate when you're staring down the barrel of what you've lost. The thing is, I know I'm supposed to say that I'm finding new reasons to fight, discovering parts of myself I didn't know existed, yada yada. And maybe I will. Someday. But today? Today, I just don't see it.

So, what I'm getting at, dear diary, is that I haven't chucked the towel into the ring quite yet. Seems like I have a bit of a taste for the masochistic side of things. But, here’s the scoop - the scene’s ready, the blueprints are drawn, and every tool and trick I need is at my fingertips. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for that last push. Is it just an excuse I’m after, or maybe it's a dash of bravery? Hell, could be a bit of both.

And I do know one thing for sure. I am not going to prison. That has been taken care of. 6:00 before 12:00