I never pretended to know what I was doing.
Good thing I didn't. Because aw hell.
Three years ago, if you had told me I'd be sitting down to write this with now two divorces under my belt, I would have thrown. UP.
Who wants that as a bragging right? 'Oh yeah? So you climbed the Himalayas and met The Yeti? That's nothing. I'm under 40 and have already been married to two psychopaths AND been divorced twice.' Yeah. Beat that.
Never did I want to be staring down the latter half of my 30s single with two dogs and no boyfriend. The 16 year old version of me would slap me for all the stupid decisions I've made thus far, I just know it.
How do you describe the intensity of knowing you've been abandoned twice? There are no words that can define that cracked and splintered state of your heart which no amount of healing can fix.
So you just take one day at a time. Pick yourself back up off the floor. Realize that while NO, this too will NOT necessarily pass, you still must live. And breathe.
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I am, like, so excited! You're going to comment!
Wait. You ARE going to comment, right?
Don't look the other way. I'm talking to YOU.
See, commenting keeps my self-esteem up. And prevents my head from exploding. So unless you want a self-loathing, headless blogger on your conscience, I'd comment if I were you.
No pressure, though.