If a desire to get up to watch the sun rise, finish a book, and eat ice cream with maple syrup for breakfast is a measure of happiness, I am happy. And happy after a night that seemed like it would never end, a night of panic and uncontrolled shaking and crying. After midnight, my mum talked to me on the phone and Tim held me until I went to sleep. I would not have appreciated it a year ago, I would have been embarrassed. Lately that kind of self-sufficiency is stupidly impossible, not even counting the psych meds, but I feel safe.