I feel wretched, I mean that deep down, forlorn, ache in your chest that sucks the life out of you sad and to make it worse, I feel guilty that I feel sad because what the fuck right do I have to be sad about anything really? I have a job, a roof over my head, people that love me and still …
I feel broken, like beyond repair broken. You think that the next time your heart gets ripped to shreds maybe you’ll be more prepared for it, maybe this time you’ll deal with it with a sense of aplomb, not the hot, sniffling, blubbering mess you end up as. I mean come on, you’re past 50 now, you must have it down, right? No, you know what, I think it was worse still this time because I really thought, this time, it would be different and we would work things out and it wouldn’t have to end because I picked someone completely different from my usual intense, overbearing, totally over the top partner. Nope. Same shit, different pile. (Note to self: never EVER date an only child again.)
It’s interesting because I wrote this some time ago now and not much has changed. I really need to get my finger out of my ass and do something about this. I miss having a life. I started colouring and that seems to be therapeutic for me but I have been soooooooooo lazy due to my situation and that’s all on me. \More and more I feel like I should move away from Toronto but I know
More and more I feel like I should move away from Toronto but I know, from years of running away, that this is not a way to deal with my problems, so I have to fix things here before I can think about moving away.
P.S. I hate these winey McGuyver posts … that’s why I’m not linking it. If you’re reading this, I apologize.