Tuesday, May 23, 2006


Why do I keep thinking that if I let myself begin to heal and if I start to let go of the feelings she rejected from me, then she is the one who will feel better, not me? Everyday I get brief glimpses of myself without that pain, an occasional release from my anger and sadness, and I can breathe normally again. But then I imagine her saying something hollow like, "That's great. I'm so glad you're feeling better" and then my shoulders tighten again and the pseudo-hatred returns. I keep rejecting anything that might make her say or think anything positive. It's like a punishment, but in the end she is never the punished one.

That's so unhealthy. When, how will I learn to stop taking her reaction into consideration with anything I do, think, feel? And when, how will I stop reacting to her reactions? It's like a blister that I can't stop playing with.

This isn't me. This isn't how I behave or how I live my life; I've never acted like this in the past. Why this time? And why is it so hard to remove her from my daily existence, when she is hundreds of miles from me geographically, thousands emotionally?

The strength I need, the strength I've found before is in me somewhere. But I've found that it takes an entirely different kind of strength to search for it and bring it out. That's the hard part. I'll find it, even if it's a reluctant search, maybe it will eventually show itself to me.

In the meantime, I'll keep learning how to make new coffee drinks, walking my dog, talking to the people who do want to talk to me--the ones who don't make me feel bad. I guess this is the first real test of faith I've ever had: having total faith that life will someday have flavor again and that my smiles each day will be genuine and not a mask.


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