This weekend was one that I will remember for the rest of my life as being one of the most pivotal in my life.

Aside from embracing certain things and finding acceptance in my own life and understanding what that means to me, I finally got to talk to me Dad. After years of covering up, hiding and dodging questions I got to be honest with the person in my life that has been the most loving and important to my sanity throughout growing up with a family controlled by my mother's Borderline personality disorder. He did exactly what I expected, he loved me. He told me that it was alright and that it didn't matter who I loved, or why I loved, or any number of people I loved, as long as I was happy. That's all that mattered to him. He knew that I was happier over the course of the last month, he knew that I was more confident in the last month. He didn't know exactly why.

He told me that he would jump in front of a runaway bus for me. I started choking back tears as I fell silent. I'm crying now as I write this. This perfect fall day spent with this perfect loving father. I couldn't have had an easier conversation with him. Of course I have to appreciate all the love and support my little sister has given to me. Additionally, when she came out to my dad, she was able to prime the conversation I was to have, by explaining the fluidity of sexuality and queer spectrums. I had it incredibly easy, and I am so overwhelmingly happy.

I was having trouble figuring out the title for this journal until I remembered something from a long time ago. I knew that I had a companion with me at all times. It didn't have a face, or hands and definitely didn't have a tail, but it was there all along. Supporting me. Embracing me. Loving me.

Last night Tired was there. His black paws sprung up from my wrists. They embraced my hands as I fell into his chest. I knew that he was there. I felt warm, feeling the fire burning in my chest. The passion for life, love, all around me. A spiritual experience? Maybe. Clearly one that I won't forget. Who is Tired? He is me. He is the person that I know I am. He is the person that if I didn't have a mother with Borderline Personality Disorder, I would have become naturally.

Confident in his love, burning passion for life, and extremely protective of his loved ones. He embraced me last night. He held me in his arms and helped fight my mother. She had found a way to work her tendrils of negativity into my little sister's head. I could see them. I had power over them and Tired knew what to say. My voice dropped, my stance was firm and I started the monster dead in the face. Tired spoke through me. Asking it to stop dead in it's tracks. I could see it squirm on my mom's face. Asking her to forget about herself for one minute. To remember that her only obligation in life is to love her children. To hold and protect them from the storm. It squirmed again. It tried to escape saying that it had to go to bed and avoid the confrontation. Tired and me, we worked together. We stopped it again, asking for love, no, demanding love. It squirmed once again. The attacks went on, nobody loved it, we will not support you anymore, nobody loves you. I looked it dead in the face, firm, loving and unafraid and simply asked for love.

BPD is not something that anyone should have to grow up with in a household. It is simply a horribly manipulative disease and quite hard to figure out. This weekend I figured it out. I got to see it for the first time. That gave me power. I was able to go for the jugular. I won my battle, and maybe even my war today. I finally have power over it. I know what it is and that, with a help from my dark passenger, is all it took.

I am on fire. Tired Phoenix has been reborn in my heart.