Basement Artist is getting married and leaving us. She's twenty-four--it's time.
I don't wanna talk about it.
Social Hurricane is talking about moving out. She's twenty-two. She's got some issues, but it's time.
I don't wanna....no, I guess I should talk about something.
Social Hurricane has wanted to spread her wings and fly for some time now. She tried too early, kinda fell and crashed, and came limping back. There were prices to pay, consequences, some delays and obstacles she's got to live with it.
But she thinks she's almost ready, and we think she's almost ready. She's done lots of adulting things and is working on more.
It's a little tricky doing adulting things when you suffer from full-bore bipolar disorder, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, hallucinations, and serious dyslexia. Plus she got hit by a car a few years back and has a few lingering issues from that. SH is probably always going to have some challenges, some things that are a little more complicated for her than for "normal" people.
I'm a little scared at the prospect of her leaving, much more so than I am about Basement Artist. She's a fully licensed CNA, and she's good at it and likes it, so she does have a very marketable skill. She's pretty determined to get her driver's license this time around, and once we get past this wedding I do want to take her out for some more intensive instruction. She's starting paying bills and keeping up with medications and doctor appointments and such already, so, you know, progress. (Of course, there would have been a few awkward bits if her mother wasn't keeping an eye on things, but, you know, this is how we learn.) And, in some respects, she does have a lot of practical intelligence--she'll abruptly turn around and be competent and capable at the darnedest things.
I feel better for writing all that out. Maybe she's going to be okay?
I'm not ready for this.
Hope everything's okay out there, friends, and God bless.
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