Not for the first time in my life, I don’t think I know what to do next. I know what I want to do and that’s mildy helpful but I am flat out of concrete decision making at this point in time.
I don’t think I’ve ever examined my life so thoroughly. Or that I’d ever want to do so again. It’s solitary, circular and bringing me no closer to an answer. But I think it’s probably within a normal response to the decision at the heart of it. Do I need an operation to be happy?
I’ll never make a decision this important again. The weight of that knowledge is overwhelmingly real now. I feel it every moment of every day. And if it seems like I’m wavering after all this time, it’s because I’m really genuinely scared. I have every right to be. Or at least that’s how I’m selling it to myself.
I have little doubt that I’ll see it all through. That’s the deal. But a little wobble now the end is in sight was not something I originally factored in. I’m not accustomed to being paralysed by fear. But that’s it in a nutshell. I am plain and simple afraid of what comes next.
And this is where having a blog comes in handy. I can write things I can’t say out loud and then they are given substance and can be handled. So even reading this back to myself tells me what to do next. Put on the big girl pants and man the fuck up! Told you a blog was handy.