it’s funny…and not funny…how the patterns repeat in life. i have worked hard to make progress, to not be an (incredibly) angry person, to love instead of shoving people out. in all that progress, i would like to think i’d moved forward, but sometimes it just seems like i’m still in the same spot i was in 20 years ago, 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 3 years, 1 year.
i pick at old wounds of the spirit, pick pick pick. revisit. think. pick pick pick. bleed. wonder why it hurts and feels raw, pick pick pick.
i get restless. pick pick pick.
i wanted a pretty normal kind of life, and by normal, i really do mean that i wanted a heap of the stereotypical stuff. i wanted a faithful husband whose devotion to our relationship and family would be unwavering; he would put in the work toward keeping love alive, even during the hard times, just the same as i would. i still believe in that stereotype, though few others do.
i’ve been laughed at when i mentioned marriage to those I wasted years with. i’ve been laughed at by new boyfriends that thought they were so clever in their mockery of boring old commitment.
pick pick pick.
when did building a life together fall out of fashion?
pick pick pick.
i often think these sore spots are healed, gone, but they are just waiting for me to notice them, and overthink them, and pick pick pick.
i was thinking today how my last long term boyfriend steadfastly avoided sharing my photo on facebook, and i was thinking about how it still bothers me today, unresolved, will never ever be resolved. and my last short term boyfriend, same deal. neither wanted to even change their silly (but not silly) relationship status on social media to reflect my place in their life, didn’t want to tell the world i was important. keeping the options open. pick pick pick.
i have no neat and tidy way to wrap up this oversharing. i look forward to a day when the patterns break, when the old wounds really have healed over.