About a Wedding

I spent most of  yesterday in bed, sleeping, in an attempt to recover from my exhausting weekend. But oh, what a weekend it was!  On Friday, I drove my husband and my mother 7 hours to Savannah, Georgia to attend my nephew's wedding.  From the moment we got there, it was a non-stop whirlwind of activity and celebration up until (and after) we left Sunday.  We stayed in a breathtaking 2 story loft type residence inside an old cabinet making business.  I loved the exposed brick walls, 15-foot ceilings, industrial-looking pipes everywhere-it was very urban and modern and funky.  We had a downstairs apartment with 2 bedrooms and a kitchen and a huge great room with pool table and 50" flatscreen TV; my sister and her husband and my niece and her boyfriend stayed in the upstairs apartment, which was just as hip plus had a fireplace and a balcony.  Savannah is an amazing old city.  In case you've never seen the movie "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil", I'll tell you that Savannah is gorgeous. 

The Savannah Historic District is one of the nation's largest; this city is just a beautiful old Southern coastal town with beautiful architecture and gigantic shade trees dripping with Spanish moss, and 22 different parks with fountains and old statues and cobblestone streets complete with horse-driven carriages.  There's a waterfront area where artists set up their easels and paint and artisans sell their crafts and street musicians perform.  There are delightful little cafe's and pubs, and my husband and I found our way to a few of these Friday afternoon. The wedding festivities began with a rehearsal dinner Friday night. I didn't attend that, but it was my responsibility to get my mother dressed and do her hair and makeup.  After everyone left for the rehearsal dinner, I was able to breathe easier, and my husband and I went off on our own and walked the streets of downtown and had dinner at an eclectic little place which offered $2 beer.  After some sightseeing, we headed back to get ready for the pre-wedding cocktail party, held at a fancy old restaurant/bar.  I intentionally skipped all my meds just so I could drink at the party.  And drink I did!  I think I was trying to make up for my lack of Xanax.  After several drinks, my brother-in-law brought me my own bottle of champagne, every drop of which I drank...and then a second bottle appeared.  I drank and danced and smiled and pretended to be at ease, but truthfully I was a nervous wreck. For a person with Social Anxiety Disorder, this was the ultimate test:  It was crowded and noisy and I was surrounded by hundreds of strangers, all of whom seemed young and thin and beautiful.  But I hung next to my husband and my mother, and so I felt somewhat shielded from the dangers of the reality outside my little bubble.  It was so wonderful to spend time with my big sister, whom I rarely get to see as she lives on the other side of the country.  She introduced me to someone as "her beautiful sister" and I took that as a sarcastic comment but my husband said she was being sincere. It's not that I think she'd try to be mean to me, it's just that I'm paranoid by nature and always assume the worst.  We stayed for a good long while, long enough for me to see my 83-year old mother drink and dance with several young men, including her grandson (the groom).  I was thrilled to see her having such a good time, and she said it was the most fun she's had since Daddy died.  After she was too tired to go on, my husband and I took her back to where we were staying and put her to bed.  There was another party to attend, but I didn't think I could handle another crowded social function, so instead we stayed in and my husband made me margaritas (my sister stocked our kitchen with snacks and our bar with liquor!) and he opened a bottle of Captain Morgan's and we did some more partying by ourselves.  I got so drunk that I ended up hugging the toilet for a good part of the evening.  Oh well, it was totally worth it.

The next day was hectic and entailed a breakfast get-together where I consumed much champagne and orange juice.  I intentionally skipped my meds again so I could enjoy all the champagne I wanted.

 I LOVE champagne.  After breakfast, everyone scattered  to do their own thing and my hubby and I went sightseeing.  We walked all over town and ended up in a frozen drink bar.  From a wall of colorful assorted frozen drink machines, I chose the blue one.  I ordered my drink and then saw the sign which proclaimed that the drinks are made with 190 proof pure grain alcohol and are much stronger than regular bar drinks.  Needless to say, I thought that drink was going to put hair on my chest!  We headed back to the apartment to prep for the wedding.  I helped Mom get dressed and did her makeup and hair and Mom left to get wedding pictures made.  Husband and I had an hour to ourselves before we had to leave for the wedding.  Which means that I was ready on time, but that there was enough time for me to get very anxious.  I stuck some Xanax in my purse but really didn't want to take any because I wanted to drink at the reception.  Well, once my husband and I were all decked out in our formal attire (he looked so snappy in his bow tie!) we headed down the street 2 blocks to catch the trolley which my nephew had hired to take everyone to the church.  The wedding was beautiful and afterwards we headed to a mansion for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.  Servers clad all in black milled about with trays of food and wine, and there was an open bar which we took full advantage of.  I admit, I didn't do any mingling.  I knew no one but a  handful of relatives there, so I wasn't comfortable talking to anyone.  I put Mom in a chair and got myself a Cosmopolitan and spent the next hour or two chatting with my husband and trying not to have an anxiety attack.  It seemed to take an eternity, but at last it was time for dinner, and the wedding party filed into the ballroom and everyone went to their assigned seats.  I was so relieved to find that we were sitting with my mom and sister and niece.  I had a cocktail with me, then a man came around and poured champagne, and then after that a man came around with 4 different kinds of wine. I chose white.  The dinner was ultra gourmet--filet mignon and a single gigantic shrimp served with asparagus. It was much fancier than I am able to describe.  I ate very little but drank plenty.  After that there were speeches and toasts and dancing and general merrymaking.  I can't remember how I got back to the apartment...  it seems that my husband and I did some more drinking that night and I guess I passed out at some point; I woke up in the wee hours of the morning wearing my clothes.  There was no sleeping in that day, for we had to make the journey home.  I stumbled into the kitchen to make coffee, then started packing my suitcase.  For a 3-day trip, we had a ton of luggage.  Plus a cooler filled with drinks and plastic bins filled with snacks and all of Mom's medical equipment...it looked like we were moving.  I think it took Husband 20 minutes to load the car.  It was raining the day we left, and that seemed to match the mood of everyone as we said our goodbyes.  It was sad-Mom cried.  The drive home was long-about 8 hours-and exhausting.  I kept having to stop to throw up, presumably from all the drinking I'd done the night before.  Finally we pulled into our driveway.  I hated that our trip was over but was also glad to be home.  Then I saw the evidence of the stress of the trip.  I found that my legs had been picked at and scratched at and were all bloody and raw.  My upper arms were also covered in sores due to compulsive skin picking.  I don't remember doing it but it's obvious that it was a reaction to stress and the pressure of being around so many strangers.  I skipped all my meds for 3 days and went "all-natural" -something was bound to happen.  And so I dealt with the anxiety by drinking too much and picking at my skin. Also bit my nails but not as bad as it could have been.  In retrospect, I don't think I could've had a better time.  And I'm so proud of myself for not freaking out during all the excitement.  My doctor had warned me I'd probably dissociate during the wedding, but I don't think I ever did.  I remember the ceremony. I remember the reception. I got a little floaty and distracted during dinner, but I think I successfully stayed in my body for most of the whole event... Wow!  This weekend gave me not one, but two things to celebrate.

A Good Day?! How'd That Happen?

I'm still having a hard time believing it, but it seems that I had a good day. I need to write down everything that happened so that I can read this in the future on a bad day and be able to remember this good day, since they are so few and far between. (the idea was a Twitter pal's) DISCLAIMER: This post is boring.  There's no violence, no self-injury, no drug use, no sex. It's a totally Disney blog post. But I'm writing this for ME, and I need to hear all these little details. 

First of all, I got up without the aid of an alarm clock, and was able to get into the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee before our mother ever got out of bed.  I lurked on Twitter for a little while, never actually making my presence known, while waiting for Mom.  After she was up, I helped her take her medications, then I went back to my room and sipped my coffee leisurely as I thumbed through my closet.  In no time at all, I'd picked out an outfit to wear to the psychiatrist's office.  It surprised me just how easy this task was for me; picking something to wear is an ordeal which often takes hours (sometimes from trying on so many different outfits, sometimes from indecisiveness).  Today, I didn't even think twice before grabbing a new pair of jeans.  I even went so far as to pick out a top in a color other than black, which practically never happens.  I still refuse to believe it, but I've had more than one therapist tell me I'd be less depressed if I quit wearing black all the time. Whatever.  Black is K's favorite color (well, most of us) and we wear it at some point every day.

After finishing my coffee, I took a long steamy shower using a luxuriously scented body wash and even went so far as to shave, which I've not done in a long while since I've been so depressed.  I dried off with my over-sized, super fluffy towel and then put on our favorite black velvety robe with the leopard trim.  I then took the time to apply perfumed body lotion all over, and I really enjoyed the scent-it made me happy.  After that I got myself a refill of coffee-I even had my favorite flavored creamer-and I paused to scan the headlines on Google news on my laptop.  Checked my email and was thrilled to find an unexpected message from a dear friend.  (I hope I remember to write her back!)  So back to the bedroom and time to get dressed.  My jeans seemed to button a little easier than normal-could we have lost a pound or two?  That was the first truly awesome moment of the day, the thought that I'd perhaps lost a little weight.  I fixed my hair, and considered putting on makeup (I really wanted to wear some) but I thought about how I often cry at some point in therapy and decided no makeup was better than smeared makeup.  Of course I donned my black sunglasses-to hide my face-and I kissed my Husband goodbye.  He was supposed to go to therapy with us, but he worked the night before until after 2:00 A.M. and I hated to wake him so early. So I went alone.

The drive was easy and I wasn't even nervous, which is VERY rare.  I think I might even have sung along to some music on the way there.  Next memory I have is sitting in my psychiatrist's office, wondering if I could even think of anything to talk about.  I don't remember much about our last session, (that was a different K) and I seemed to be having a good day so I didn't know of any immediate problems which needed addressing.  I sat down, and I think I might even have smiled a little bit, and luckily Dr. H began asking me questions.  That's so much easier for me to deal with, with her choosing the topic. It's hard when she just asks "How are you?"

She asked me if I'd done my homework assignment, and I was proud to tell her I'd accomplished 2 of the 3 things she'd wanted me to do.  I was even able to briefly make eye contact with her today, but I don't think she knew it because I kept on my magic you-can't-see-me-when-I-wear-them sunglasses.  Even though I was having a good day, it still wasn't enough to give me the courage to take them off.  They are part of my disguise.  Hiding, always, always hiding...

She asked me if I had any sort of rituals.  I was quiet for a bit, then admitted that yes, I do have rituals, but I didn't think she'd like them if I told her what they were.  Those are my own personal rituals, which I share with no one.  Suffice it to say they are controversial and self-destructive.  She told me she wanted me to come up with some new ritual, something that I can do at the same time every morning or at bedtime or whenever I choose.  She wants me to come up with something healthy, relaxing, and healing.  I'll be thinking about that for several days I'm sure.  Hopefully, I can come up with something and begin practicing it right away.  I need something to clear my head and unburden my heart.  Maybe a bedtime bubble bath? A pedicure? Drawing in my sketch diary?

I'm not sure my psych realized it, but the person sitting in front of her on this day was NOT the same person who'd been in her office just 3 days earlier.  She was the sad, weak, pathetic K who can't control her emotions or actions.  I'm a much better person, more in control of myself, and I'd even go so far as to say that I'm happy, not all the time, but way more than the others.  I'm the K who many of my friends know. Smiling, witty, fun to be around, capable of handling herself in a crisis.  Too bad I'm not always around; I can't remember being around for a good long while now.  Anyway, back to the story of my very rare good day.  I got through therapy and never shed a tear; after all, I am not the depressed K.  Seems like I told my doc I'd try and take better care of K, but it's all fuzzy now and I can't really remember.

Once I got home, I took my meds and went outside on the back porch and sat in the swing for awhile.  It was a beautiful day-sunny and warm-and I took advantage of that fact.  I also figured it'd be good for us to get some sun.  K doesn't like to get out in the sun as she has very pale skin and the two don't mix well. Plus, she's obsessed with staying young and the sun ages you; she always wears sunscreen even if she doesn't go outside.  But back to our story.  We stayed outside for a little while, listening to the birds singing, feeling the warm Spring-like breeze, noticing that some of the flowers in the yard have started to bloom.  It was good for my soul, just relaxing outside like that, and I don't do things like that very often.  I don't like to waste time, since I lose so much of it already.

When it was time for lunch, not only did I eat a delicious AND sensible meal, but I did not throw up afterwards.  I actually kept my food down.  So that's an accomplishment.  I cleaned up the lunch dishes and by this time it was 3:00 in the afternoon and my husband had some errands to do.  So I asked if I could come along and he said sure and so we rode in the car with Husband, listening to music and chatting pleasantly.  No drama. Nothing serious came up.  We just talked, about silly stuff, nothing really.  It was awesome!  I was so proud of myself for keeping things light.  But then again, I AM casual and light-hearted, whenever I'm around. So we drove downtown and went here and there and I was smiling and friendly the whole time.  After he finished all his work, sometime around 5ish, he asked me if I'd like to go to happy hour somewhere.  I told him that sounded great, and I meant it.  I was excited to go out to a bar and have a drink or two.  I mean, I was in a fantastic mood.  So he chose one of his favorite bars, it's dark and smoky and filled with regulars, many of whom know my husband.  So there were some conversations here and there, and we sat at the bar and had drinks and just chilled out for a while.  I actually had a good time, and that's not usually the case in a crowded public place.

We headed home about 6:00 and I thought to stop and get Mom a salad to have for dinner; she was really happy about that.  She ate her salad and Husband went back to his study to do some work and so I had free time.  I got on the laptop and I still can't believe it, but not only did I make my presence known on Twitter, but I actually interacted with 5 different people!  That's a record for me-I usually talk to no one.  K is quite shy and usually just Tweets to no one or reads other people's Tweets; she doesn't have the courage to talk to anyone.  So it was quite a big deal to me.  I felt very satisfied at the end of the day.  And I have to say that conversing with someone on Twitter is far more therapeutic than just lurking.  I must remember that!

We watched a little TV that night, and of course took a ton of medications, but for a change I didn't take a nap at all. (Usually K has to take a nap or two because the meds make her so sleepy)  A friend of Husband's came over later in the evening and we all drank some beers and goofed off.  I felt very social and made jokes and was quite charming, if I do say so.  At the end of the day, I put on my freshly-washed soft pajamas and took a cup of tea to my bedside, where I sat up reading for a good while. We've been reading books on dissociative disorders, and this particular book was written by a man who has DID/MPD.  K is learning as much as possible about dissociative disorders and derealization and depersonalization.  So we read for awhile, then Husband came to bed and we turned off the lights and cuddled.  I fell asleep in his arms, feeling warm and safe and loved.

My good day was Monday.  I probably should've written this post that night, while all the memories and feelings were still fresh.  But K procrastinates and/or forgets things...so this post wasn't written until Wednesday.  Hopefully I didn't forget anything important about my good day.  Oh yes, and incidentally, Monday was the only good day; everything was back to "normal" the next morning, unfortunately. At least the rarity of good days makes me appreciate them more.

The Discovered Diaries

So much has happened that I just do not know where to start.  I can't remember the beginning, and we've not yet come to the end, at least I hope not, and so that must mean that this is the "present time".  I've been doing some research since my last blog post, and to say that is an understatement of tremendous proportions.  I've been obsessing over websites and news articles about dissociative disorders, to the point of not eating or sleeping; to stop and do either of those things would mean sacrificing our precious time, and I'd rather use however much time we have left here to seek more knowledge.  I hunger for knowledge, not food, I thirst for facts.  I cannot stop reading about these different conditions and their symptoms and I really feel that for the first time in what seems an eternity (to us) that I've stumbled upon something important, something that describes how I, we feel, something that makes sense to me, and to K. I feel as though I'm opening my eyes for the first time...although I have proof now-physical proof-that this is indeed NOT the first time I've had this sense of "clarity" as I've been calling it. Some time ago, we don't know how long ago exactly-could be minutes, could be days-we found a diary...

I was looking for something in the nightstand drawer, I can't remember what exactly, I just recall that I was very intent on finding it and so I was going through the drawer thoroughly. I came across a sketch diary, which I'd begun on my birthday in February of 1999 and which I used to remember important things and people and places and events by a combination of drawings and words. We've had our memory problems for quite a long time now, and so K has always tried to keep a diary, a journal, a sketchbook, anything which she could look at and relive experiences through, as well as just keep on top of basic information which other people seem to be able to hold onto in their minds so easily but which she cannot, things like friends' names.  She began her first diary around age 5.  It was a very small white diary with a picture of Donald Duck on the cover, I remember that well.  I'm not sure where that diary is located at the moment, but I'm almost positive that we still have it, since K absolutely hates to throw things away for fear of losing something important.  Something that she might need to use in the future. Also, she's very sentimental and still has, for example,  every love letter ever penned for her, every card, every poem.  We keep all these things in a box which has grown too full to hold anything new, but that's OK as we now are married to the man who will love me forever and never leave us, in spite of our illness.  At least, that's the master plan.

Now we're already losing track of the subject, and we've only just begun; this is terribly frustrating as well as inconvenient, for we once again are at the mercy of time and we seem to have so little of it right now.  There is so much which needs to be said and done before we run out of time, before I have to go away again.  I don't know how much time there is before that happens, I only know that it will happen, I will go away; not to a physical place, mind you, but rather to a different kind of place, on another realm of existence, or at least that's how it feels to K.  I'm not K, but am what our husband refers to as Switch Kellie, and I don't know how long I have been here this time but I can see from my notes that I've been doing a lot of researching, a lot of studying, a lot of prep work.  I suppose this is all because we go to see our psychiatrist soon.  Not today, and not tomorrow, but the next day.  I'm starting to work on these notes for the doctor now so that perhaps it will save her some time later, in helping her to properly diagnose K and hopefully, after that, put us on the road to recovery through the use of therapy and medication.  K takes more than her fair share of medication, that's for sure, but we were thinking that maybe if we had the RIGHT medication(s) then maybe we wouldn't have to take so MUCH...maybe we could get away with just a few pills a day or something much more "normal" than the current handful of 10-12 pills.  That's a ridiculous amount of pills for someone so young to be taking, and besides that, it makes us all groggy and sleepy (not to mention all the other dreaded side effects) and we feel as though our life is literally slipping past us and if I don't stand up and ring the bell to tell the bus driver that I want off, then I may just miss the whole thing-life I mean.

Now according to my notes, there happens to be some information which is of vital importance to K's recovery, (that is the current, and most important, project) inside these diaries. (Yes, plural-we have found three now) K always has a number of projects going at any given time, or at least most of us do, but not the K that's been around here lately... No, she's done nothing but sleep and be lazy and depressed and embarrass us and make us angry, not to mention the fact that it just downright looks bad in front of our mother and husband, both of whom we love very much and want to make happy.  This sad and lazy K has been with us before, oh it feels like we've met her a number of times over the years, although I don't believe that she ever came around until after K had to drop out of college, when the pressure became too much for her to bear.  I'll tell you that story later in the game.

Now back to our tale.  We have come across 3 different diaries, one begun in 1999, one begun in 2004, and one begun the first of January, 2010.  I find it absolutely fascinating, what's contained in these books, and my only regret is that we didn't find these and read them sooner, so that we could've told someone, some medical professional, one of our therapists, about them and the secrets contained within their pages.  I have to stop here and admit that I have not yet actually read all 3 diaries from start to finish; I simply have not had time to do that, at least not enough "Kellie Time", which is a measure of time all our own, which K's friends have gotten used to and often joke about but which they don't seem to understand (or perhaps some of them do) is truly the only sense of time that K knows.  I can tell time, perfectly well, I just don't wear a watch and can't always get to my cell phone or a clock to check the time around me.  "Kellie Time" is usually about 30 minutes behind the rest of the real world, but that can vary with K's different realities.  What I mean by that is, each K has her own sense of time and space, and so that 30 minutes could be as little as 15 minutes or as long as 2 hours, depending upon which K is trying to tell the actual time. I imagine none of this makes any sense to you, and I suppose it shouldn't either, as it couldn't possibly make sense to anyone who's not had a peek inside K's mind.  It honestly doesn't even make sense to K, and she's the one living through all of this madness.  If SHE doesn't get it, then how could anyone else?

So the diaries...let me tell you a bit about them.  I opened up the first one I found, the little black book, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that its first page was fully illustrated in bright colors, outlined all in black Sharpie marker.  Black Sharpie markers are K's favorite medium and she's been using them for decades now to draw pictures and tell stories of what's happening in her day-to-day life, and while a trusted few have seen these drawings, or some of them, (K does the drawings for herself, no one else) very few people (one or two) have actually taken the time to READ the drawings, or try and interpret them.  Only one of our therapists or doctors has ever seen these drawings, and when she saw them she seemed to get excited or eager or something I can't put my finger on, but which made us quite paranoid,  which is a very common state of mind for us to be in.  These drawings vary in appearance, as they are not all drawn by the same K, and most of the K's seem to have their own unique artistic style.  It's interesting to flip through the diary, and note the changes in mood from page to page, I mean the whole physical appearance of the diary entries, not just the words but the pictures and the colors, everything.  It's like reading a book written and illustrated by many different authors.  I, personally, Switch Kellie, as Husband likes to call us, am fascinated by these diaries and the words contained on their pages. I've been reading them like novels, each is like a new novel that I've never read before and which perhaps I've been told about because some of the stories are familiar to me and it seems I've heard the stories before, but I can't remember actually reading or writing these tales for the most part, and certainly I can't remember living all of these things.  It's as though it all happened to another person (or persons), or in dream or something.  Not "real life" (whatever that may be).

In addition to the physical appearance of the diaries, look closer and you will find that the words are different too, the writing style as well as the handwriting, and I am intrigued by this fact.  I want to know more about these books.  I must read them, all 3 of them, before I go and see the doctor on Wednesday.  My laptop tells me that this currently is Monday morning, so hopefully it won't be too much longer before the day comes when K goes to the psychiatrist with her husband (I need him as a witness!) and wherein she can finally tell someone this tremendous secret she's keeping. This secret is so big, so enormous, that if I stop to think about it, it makes my brain ache.  I literally can feel my brain begin to throb and pulsate and the pain intensifies until it gets to the point in which I fear I'm going to have a stroke or give myself an aneurism or something terrible like that. Thinking about The Secret, in fact, is enough to (almost) immediately induce a panic attack, and so we must be very careful about what information we share with whom, i.e. which of the Kellie's.  I'm the strong one, I'm the one who takes care of us, and so I'm much better equipped to handle the details contained in the diaries, much better able to deal with the overload of information, all of which must be organized and put into some sort of order before any recovery can begin to take place for us.  I just hope that I have enough time in this current state of mind to get the facts down on paper, to at least scan each of the diaries and take notes about what needs to be brought up in therapy.  There's so much to talk about, I fear that this project may take years and years, but I'm hoping that this is not the case; I'm hoping that by organizing all the data around me, I can put together some sort of picture of what's going on inside the mind of K, and be able to explain it rationally to our doctor.  Rationally?!  What the hell does that mean?!

I, Switch Kellie, am taking it upon myself to be in charge of the diaries, to navigate these waters as it were, to read them and analyze them and figure out the mystery that IS K.  I am curious about her, I really am.  I think that perhaps she is a piece of me, or I am a piece of her....I haven't figured out yet how all of this works but I'm hoping to at least get some sort of grasp, some idea of what exactly is happening right now and will happen in the near future, when The Secret is revealed.  I have to stop now and tell you that this big secret is too much for K's mother and therefore we will NOT be telling her anything about any of this.  She absolutely cannot know, she mustn't find out what's been going on right under her nose, for that information would be too much for her to bear, she's not open-minded enough, she could never imagine the likes of what I need to to say, to share, to understand.  K's mother is over 80 years old and is very old-fashioned and naive about things, particularly things which one generally does not hear about on TV or in newspapers. She doesn't really have friends at her age, aside from a couple of relatives who come to check on her and socialize with her from time to time. These times, the times when, say Aunt B comes over and takes Mom to the grocery store, these are the times which K looks forward to, not because she doesn't enjoy being with her mother-she does love and enjoy being with her mother-but because while Mom is out of the house, K can relax her brain and let go and not have to put forth such an effort to appear "sane", which is absolutely exhausting for us to do everyday.  K's mother has no real concept of what the internet is, she just knows that she can ask K a question and K can look it up on her computer and find an answer usually.  This is important!  This is how I intend to find out about what's "wrong" with K, even though I detest that we must use that word "wrong", for it implies that K is defective, which I suppose she must be to be going through all of these symptoms and what have you, but which I, Switch Kellie, find hard to accept.  I don't want to be defective. I just want to be happy.

Happy is a fairly foreign concept to us, to K, for she's been unhappy for so long that she can barely remember what it's like to feel anything else, except that now that she's gotten married, this feeling of "happiness" has come over her and to be honest, it freaks her out a great deal.  It freaks her out because it just feels so alien to her, this feeling of true happiness (we have faked being happy for eons); K has suffered from depression for almost her entire life and she's therefore used to being unhappy and she understands these dark feelings of doom and gloom and while they may not be ideal for her, she's at least familiar with them and is comfortable feeling them.  This new feeling of "happiness" makes K very nervous, for we are unsure how to go about it, it's something different, something scary, something we've not been around much, and K doesn't know exactly how to "be" happy.  It frightens her, this new concept, although she'd very much like to experience it the way that other people, regular people, seem to experience it.  And wouldn't it be lovely if K could appreciate life and all that it has to offer, without being bothered by that nasty depression cloud which has hung over her head for so many years now...Perhaps we are on the pathway to that place, that feeling, to being "happy" (which we've been on and off before throughout the years but the feeling never lingers, it's always been a temporary rush).  I just hope I can get there, to that place, to "happy" before I run out of time.