back from vacation. Big fucking deal. I melted down while in the car driving home, asked M. to pull over, I couldn't face my son, my house, my dog, nothing. I felt abjectly miserable and completely despondent while a tiny spark of life kept bouncing around inside anyway, saying "live, live! Live anyway!". Very strange. I cried so much my face is still blotchy two days later.
I felt, again, that all love is fake, all friends phony, self-serving egotists, all acts of compassion and caring merely acts people do for themselves and merely pretend otherwise.
I have felt this way for about two weeks. Now I am beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, there might be real love in the world. Because of two people, myself and M. As for me, I know I truly love my birth children and would definitely give up a lung, a kidney, and my life for them so they could continue on in this world. And that is not out of some selfish wish to look self-sacrificing or feel important or any other reason, but that's just how much they mean to me. I wish I could say I feel the same way about my adopted son, but I don't, honestly. And the other person is M. I do believe that he truly loves me. I am sure that there is no benefit in loving me, a survivor of incest, rape, indifferent father, and extremely abusive mother. I won't go on and on, but I know there isn't much here he can get from me.
Since these two people have shown, over a period of time, consistently, (at least me, not sure about M.), I know that somewhere in the world, there is another person capable of real love. And it isn't all about mutual grooming.
I have hope today.