The past. My past.
The past used to just be any time before today. Now it's everything before February of last year.
I struggled through the first part of last year by drinking more wine than normal. I also tweeted a lot (sometimes when I really shouldn't have). Pushed friends away a lot. Cried a lot. Cried a lot more. And argued a lot.
Then I started to try and get everything back under control and I started talking to a professional, cut back on the red wine, focused more on work and tried to stop feeling so completely out of control.
I've worked hard to learn how to cope with mum's illness and the fact that Jim is still out of work. I try not to worry too much about what will happen and I try to push that lead weight of fear away, so that it doesn't paralyse me. And for quite a while I've suceeded.
But it's not easy. In fact sometimes it feels like it's getting harder. I want to stamp my feet and shout that I just want it all back. I want to go back to my past. To a point where our worries were so much more manageable and where cancer and losing our home wasn't a part of our reality.
But instead I write this blog and make things and teach and try and make our futures better.
None of which stops me looking at those pictures and wishing for the past.