I’m not the forgiving type. I’m the “Let’s forget and fake move on” type. The type to not so secretly harbor what you did when I’m up thinking throughout the night. I was told forgiving means letting something go for the betterment of your spirit but misery loves company and I haven’t been ready to to be alone without my burdens from the transgressions from others. How else was I going to blame someone else for my shortcomings if I forgave them? How could I continue to to live life without playing the blame game for previous heartbreaks if I forgave them? Who could I chastise them for unresolved hurt and pain if I had forgiven everyone?
Thirty years. That’s how long it took to me to admit that sometimes I’m wrong. I feel like I gave that up pretty early.
I’m not always right. Most of the time I am but there are rare moments when a playa slips up. Predictably, I would fight someone tooth and nail before I admit that I was wrong and probably being dramatic. But lately I’ve been self evaluating and with that comes admittance, ownership and change/growth.
Sometimes I’m loud and wrong.
“I can’t do this anymore, it’s over”.
“What?” I heard him properly the first time but was still shock from hearing it. My ears burned because of my growing anger and the emotionless phase sent through them. I mean, I was everything he asked for. Every day, I tried to be the perfect girlfriend, the perfect potential wife but that proved to not be enough. Or maybe it was too much. He rambled on about life and the current state of our relationship but it all went over my head. He was leaving me? For who? What is better? Who is better? What is he thinking? Those and a million other questions were bouncing around in my head while I watched my now ex get his things and leave.