Cracks

 Change remains the only constant.

I feel like I have spent my entire life trying to be okay. I woke up and found myself in the middle of my sixth decade, and it is something of a rude shock. 

My colleague just laughingly told me I sound like an 80 year old. 

Elder will age even if he never grows up. 

Also, the dog is still here. 

The bird is not. 

My week's been spent trying to get the new IT to work (it sorta does; I made it happen, but it's far from perfect). I miss the comfort of the familiar. I speak bravely of this as a learning experience.

Alas, I don't feel brave. I feel lots of things, but brave isn't one of them. 

Life is too short and brutal to be balled up the way I am, but as I read back through my ad hoc journaling through the years, themes remain the same. I've been battling depression, anxiety and PTSD for years. I mask the three incredibly well. Some days I am better at masking the autism than others.  Each thing has developed its own compartment in my psyche.  As long as I can keep all the things contained in each respective compartment, I'm in fine shape.

The last 16 or so months I've leaned on my peeps for affirmation. It gets lonely, and when things get lonely, all the things start banging down the doors to be let out. So I send cheery texts, set up impromptu teams calls, and in short spurts, I am able to outsprint all the things.

I've been doing sprints. Maybe this new sprint will help.

I've survived worse.