Sometimes it’s a jagged flapping thing that beats against your chest from the inside and writing is the only way to get it out. Sometimes even the writing doesn’t help. I’ve said everything I can say, and still the pain flares with the same intensity at every setback. But I have to see him tomorrow, in public, and I can’t afford to pick a fight. I still need his help, so this obsessing about my stolen future has to stop.
It wasn’t mine. I worked for it, but there was no contract and I shouldn’t have put such faith in him. I should have built my own career instead of supporting his, but I gambled and I lost and that is a thing that happens sometimes. He wasn’t mine. People don’t belong to other people. I chose him, but he didn’t owe it to me to choose me back. The love I thought I had, the future I thought I had, were built on my own delusions and I need to accept that they were never mine. They were never real.
If the universe closes a door in your face, removes a person from your life, it’s because they weren’t meant for you. The truth is, I married way up, and lived outside of my social class for a quarter-century but I never grew into my role, so the universe has put me back in my place. I didn’t belong there, I belong here. I expect I’ll adjust, eventually. I feel like it would be easier if it weren’t so abrupt, and if it hadn’t all been taken from me by someone else, but really, it would probably just take me longer to accept. It was a very persistent delusion. I was really good at maintaining it.
Yesterday was wretched. Most of today was wretched, too. But the sun came out around four, and I went for a long walk, and it seems like climbing out of this most recent slump went a little faster. That’s progress, right? Please let it be progress.
Today’s song du jour of the day is aspirational: it’s not true yet, but I hope it will be someday. Leona Lewis, Better In Time.