I thought I'd missed it. After a few hours of migraine induced vomiting I finally got my angel into bed, dragged myself into mine, and immediately blacked out. We did manage to toast marshmellows by candlelight and play with sparklers in the garden before it hit. I've just woken up expecting it to be some random time in the wee hours having missed the countdown, only to find that it isn't even 2330. Thank goodness my babysitter cancelled so I wasn't out.
I'm sure it won't surprise a few of you that I'm curled up in bed thinking too much instead of partying wildly. Inevitably thinking about the new year means thinking about resolutions and change. I have spent the last three years changing every aspect of my life and now, when everything is in place and couldn't be better, I'm still not happy.
Last night as friends discussed my latest driving escapade, I had a mirror held up, figuratively, and I was shown what an obviously deeply angry person I still am. I was horrified. That isn't who I am, or want to be. It really disturbed me. Because they were right. You don't have to read too far back in the blog to find numerous scathing posts brimming with negativity. I wanted to crawl under a duvet and never inflict myself on anyone ever again. Another friend, protective and defensively outraged for my sake that someone with no awareness of my background would dare to comment, cushioned the harsh wake up call with a reminder of how far I've come. But it isn't far enough. I realised that I haven't changed the most important thing. Me.
I learned how to be angry as a defense, a shield against fear and insecurity, until anger became my reaction to everything around me. It was also a way of still feeling something which was better than feeling nothing. Time to amend the habits that led to this state of being, or it won't matter how far I've come and what else has changed. Another step in the process. The only resolution that counts this year.