Fireworks

I dislike fireworks. The sound of them startles me in my bones and they have always made me anxious. Uncomfortable. After my diagnosis of PTSD, it seemed to get worse. Much worse, actually. I didnt want anyone to know, so I'd take a bunch of rescue remedy and pretend I was fine.

No problem. No big deal. Haha, isnt it funny the way Mummy jumps at the big ones? 

I've been working on being my most authentic self. Of voicing my discomforts. Voicing my dislikes. And wouldn't you know it, I'm answered with supportive options. I was invited to go to some fireworks. There was no pressure, no guilt. I was extended a gentle invitation and I took it. There was no shaming or teasing when I flinched, just a warm steadying hand placed on my knee, or holding my hand. 

It was a new experience and I enjoyed myself. The fireworks were so pretty. I'm growing to like the things that previously made me so uncomfortable. 

---------------

I was looking back at my previous posts from 2 years ago. This is around the anniversary of when I was unceremoniously dumped and a new "in a relationship" status was added to Facebook - same day. I was so hurt. So angry. I wanted to know when it would be my turn to be the first choice. 

It's now. I'm the first choice. 

And its glorious. 

Kinda like fireworks.