It’s been nearly two years since we parted ways and I still feel lost, trapped, and dead-ass tired from running around all the time. Everyone says I’m looking for an answer that I will never find, seeking a love that will never come and discovering a truth that I already know.
Was I abused? Yes. Will I ever know exactly WHY he did what he did? No. Did he ever love me as I loved him? No. Did I deserve it? No.
So …why after a ten-year relationship and nearly two years of “recovery,” do I still want that chunk of cheese? Why do I find myself chasing phantoms, memories, events, and incidents that go as far back as year one of the relationship?
I remember. I dissect. Then I forget. I remember again. I dissect. And I forget again. It’s an endless, endless cycle, trapped in a tortured tornado of my own making. That’s just it. I am torturing myself and I cannot yet find the strength to…let …it …go.
I am one of the lucky ones. Education. Friends. Family. On the outside, the picture is nearly perfect. On the inside, I’m a crumbling, curdled mess and am merely a shadow of the person I used to be and actually liked.
There is a door in my room. I stare at it often. Beyond the door is freedom, happiness, and all that is light and full of hope. I can hear the sounds of joy and see a glimmer of beauty from the light shining underneath the door. I know something wonderful exists outside the door’s boundaries.
And here I am, afraid to open that damn door because I want my piece of cheese!
