Subject lines aggravate my first line anxiety

When I get up early, and the boyfriend is at work, I read blogs. I read pages and pages, then follow a link and read more pages. I meet more and more people each weekend, I read their tales of joy and sadness, of humor and humility. I read, and I am in awe.

I don't think I have anything at all to say, anything any more compelling or interesting than any of the people I have come across, and that seems terribly sad to me. I'm here anyway. I've come to the party and will stand here against the wall and watch. Someday I'll get the hang of being a part of things, I hope.
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I said that my life has changed, and it has. When I started this blog I was married, and I let my job as wife and mother dictate who I was. My best friend and roommate was the only person who knew how to find the real me behind the facade.

The facade started crumbling shortly after I started this blog, so I abandoned it. My husband was a liar who broke my heart repeatedly, until I was beaten down so much that I called it quits. I had my job, and my son, and an apartment that we were being evicted from. I was going to survive. I told him to go on and run back to his parents without me. To let me live my life without all of his BS. I told him to just go, and to leave me alone.

I was lonely, and lost. I had plans, terrible plans. I was going to move nearer to a married man and continue the affair we were having. I was going to give up on my life in New York and just be some lousy mistress. I threw my morality to the wind and was going to accept what was readily available. I am too insecure to be alone.
I met a boy in a chat room. I told myself it was too soon. My friends told me that it couldn't be too soon, because my marriage was over long before my separation became physical. I met a boy.

I learned that I deserved better than what I had been living with, I was taught that I was worth more than just being some man's side thing. I was forced to face that I was breaking my own beliefs about commitment and love in order to accept a situation I didn't deserve. I decided not to move to Chicago. I moved in with my father instead. The boy I met was the only person willing to help me gather the majority of my things in the time I had. He was the only one who understood how badly I was struggling to just keep going.

I quit my job.
I moved in with him, to avoid the constant barrage of criticism from my father.
And to love, and be loved.

My family tells me I sound happy now. My friends notice the addition of smiles to my pictures.

I'm happy. I'm happy and still kind of lonely. Not for love, of course, but for camaraderie. I've left my friends and family behind, and now I need a place to belong.

When I wake up early, I read blogs...