Well, I've finally decided. I want to be happy. It's time for me to stop living to get to the end of the day, which has, quite frankly, been my mantra for the last, um, three years? Just make it to the end of the day, just make it to the end of the day, just make it to the end of the day....and then what? The next day would start over, and I would feel just as empty and just as tired as I had the day before. Joy hasn't been a part of my life since I can't even remember when.
The last time I felt joy were just little bursts, small moments, when I was with baby boy's dad, at the beginning, and they were littered between regret and guilt and rejection. Perhaps that's why I was (and still sometimes am) so hesitant to let him go. My psychologist called it "rain on a desert", but I need to stop thinking that the only way to get the relief of a downpour is from another cloud. (That was an awkward analogy, but I'm keeping it.) No, I must be my own little rain cloud, my own sunshine, and my own rainbow. (I'm starting to sound a bit like an after school special now, but I've committed now, there's no going back.)
This morning, I drug my very sleepy butt out of bed at 5:15 am. I exercised for 20 minutes, I pumped milk for my little boy, fed him breakfast, showered and did my makeup, and left 15 minutes earlier than normal.
What I need is a routine, something to look forward to. This morning was good, really good. I finally felt confident and in control. I finally felt like maybe I didn't need these men, who viewed me at best as replaceable and at worst as no longer serving them, these men who had shut me out and turned me down when things got rough.
I've decided to post on this blog daily. To try to be positive. To journal about who I am and not just what has "happened to" me. I can do that, right?
When I was a little girl, I would get in trouble for reading in class instead of paying attention to the teacher. My head was constantly buried in the pages of a book, any book, it didn't matter, I devoured literature like some people devour chocolate cake. Wait, I devour chocolate cake that way, too. Either way, I'm going to try to start reading more again. Rediscover the love of getting lost in a good book. Rediscover the love I had of writing and articulating my thoughts, feelings and ideas.
Rediscover things that brought me joy.
Then maybe, when my heart has healed, I can start rediscovering the things that I love that I associate with the men I loved; the music, the movies, the stage- those pieces of myself that I gave away that have come back crumpled and torn.
Let's do this thing.
The last time I felt joy were just little bursts, small moments, when I was with baby boy's dad, at the beginning, and they were littered between regret and guilt and rejection. Perhaps that's why I was (and still sometimes am) so hesitant to let him go. My psychologist called it "rain on a desert", but I need to stop thinking that the only way to get the relief of a downpour is from another cloud. (That was an awkward analogy, but I'm keeping it.) No, I must be my own little rain cloud, my own sunshine, and my own rainbow. (I'm starting to sound a bit like an after school special now, but I've committed now, there's no going back.)
This morning, I drug my very sleepy butt out of bed at 5:15 am. I exercised for 20 minutes, I pumped milk for my little boy, fed him breakfast, showered and did my makeup, and left 15 minutes earlier than normal.
What I need is a routine, something to look forward to. This morning was good, really good. I finally felt confident and in control. I finally felt like maybe I didn't need these men, who viewed me at best as replaceable and at worst as no longer serving them, these men who had shut me out and turned me down when things got rough.
I've decided to post on this blog daily. To try to be positive. To journal about who I am and not just what has "happened to" me. I can do that, right?
When I was a little girl, I would get in trouble for reading in class instead of paying attention to the teacher. My head was constantly buried in the pages of a book, any book, it didn't matter, I devoured literature like some people devour chocolate cake. Wait, I devour chocolate cake that way, too. Either way, I'm going to try to start reading more again. Rediscover the love of getting lost in a good book. Rediscover the love I had of writing and articulating my thoughts, feelings and ideas.
Rediscover things that brought me joy.
Then maybe, when my heart has healed, I can start rediscovering the things that I love that I associate with the men I loved; the music, the movies, the stage- those pieces of myself that I gave away that have come back crumpled and torn.
Let's do this thing.
I wish you the best of luck. I too am suffering an equally difficult time and have no real advice to give you that you've not thought a hundred times yourself about how tomorrow you're going to think like this and tomorrow you're going to do this and try that. What I can say is try to find you all over again, what made you tick before and what do you enjoy. Have a nice tomorrow, signing off.
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