I think that I am sad. Perpetually, perhaps. I think that I do not feel the capacity to be happy without him in my life. That is sad.
I’m in a lot of turmoil. Every day brings new opportunities, new horizons, new faces, but I am restrained. It’s a tough pill to swallow–knowing that you are holding yourself back, but not being able to change that. I am bound by chains he never freed me from. And I’m sure it wasn’t intentional. I think he was a good person–albeit a lost one. I don’t even dare to say it’s his fault anymore. He’s allowed to find what he was missing. He’s allowed to explore this world and discover the kind of person he will become. I am allowed to do this as well.
I think that there are many things I wish I could be doing. I am so underdeveloped in my life. I am lacking in an environment I should be thriving in. I feel silly even typing this because I know I could be pursuing something I’ve always wanted to do right in this very moment, yet here I am, pitying myself.
I posted an entry from my summer journal on my blog today. Apparently on July 19th I had already come to understand what our breakup meant for me, and where I was going to take myself. I feel like I was perhaps on the right path for awhile. I remember when I returned to the city after the summer–my kittens in tow–I was ready to start a new life. I was feeling comfortable in my own skin for the first time ever, and my outlook on life was rivalled by only the sun making it’s first break through the downtown core in the early hours of the morning. I look back fondly at this time. I remember applying for my job and being really excited about being hired. I remember surprising myself at how quickly I was settling into a new life in the city.
It all kind of… stopped. It stopped when I had him over to visit late August. It stopped when we kissed and touched and found eachother in a mess of blankets in my bedroom once again. It stopped when he continued to touch me and flirt with me and seduce me inbetween fawning over his new relationship. It stopped when he made me feel disgust for myself again. When he made my body and my mind feel exhausted and used again. When he stopped talking to me, and started, and stopped, and started, and stopped.
And here I am blaming him again. It’s not really his fault. It’s mine. It’s mine for knowing that I am vulnerable, and allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of a man who saw that vulnerability as something fit to be toyed with.
It’s my fault that it has been so long since I’ve known my own heart. It’s my fault.
And it’s good for me to realize this. Self-hating. Self-blaming. In this instance it is good, because in this instance it is allowing me to see that where I am right now is where I’ve left myself in the wake of everything that has happened. He did not leave me like this–I left myself like this.
I am not ready to be with someone. I am a fool to always be so heavy hearted.
I am on the verge of rising to my feet once again. Like a young fawn, my knees will wobble, and they will buckle, but I will learn to stand for myself someday. And no, I can’t say when that day will come, but that is alright for now. I have accepted my circumstance.
The next person I fall in love with will be myself, and that is a commitment I can make without another’s presence, validation, or trust.
I validate myself. I trust myself.