32 days.
The loss of someone whether living or dead always throws me into a strange, empty place. It feels not quite living fully but obviously not functioning well.
As the skies darken, cloud up and prepare for another series of rainstorms, my heart is heavy with feelings of inadequacy as the patterns that appear with each failed relationship resurface. I marvel at the buoyancy of these men who seem to be moving on unfazed by the lack of my presence in their lives. We are fed this line that every person is special and a gift to the world. I don't believe that is true. It seems that some of us are just obstacles, conquests, or just here to guide others but are not ever fully understood, appreciated or loved.
The defense mechanisms we build up to protect ourselves run deep and instead of trusting others or relying on others, it is far safer to step away and remain aloof with our intimacies and feelings.
I am hoping there is some sort of higher purpose for me, as it seems these exchanges with the opposite sex are futile. Yet, as I continue the search for meaning, my heart and mind reflect back to these men--all now happily invested in other relationships--married with children, living together in bliss, soon-to-be-married.
This isn't meant to be a pity party. I am just to the point of questioning why I continue to put myself out there knowing the end result will be the same, again and again.
Guess it's time to find higher ground.
