Why do we hurt when we hurt?  

Why are the basic principles of being a good person gone when inconvenienced?  

And why does the pain we cause always target the ones we love most?  

It’s more like the ones who love us most.  

The question keeps repeating, and we are lost in another spiral of confusion and distortion of reality.

I honestly don’t know if I’m in love with him anymore.  

I don’t know if I’ll ever be in love with anyone after this.

Cynical and optimistic don’t seem like they would blend well. 

Yet, here we are. 

I don’t hate him, though.  

I’m sad for him more than anything.

At times, that’s the only thing that humanizes him.  

Because without that sympathy, nothing he does is “normal.”

It also sets off my internal empath and caregiver receptors.  

“He needs help. He needs to work through his shit.”

I used to think that if he worked through his problems to the core, he’d suddenly wake up and love me the way I loved him.

I’ve learned the hard way—that is not the case.  

Honestly, after all this, I don’t know if it matters if it would or wouldn’t.

I feel so lost in a catastrophic twister of insanity.  

That I knew could happen when I got there.

It’s like living in the most active tornado area of “Tornado Valley,”  

Then, confused and in disbelief when a tornado came.

There are the residual effects of my problems—that I’m actively working on.

I’m sitting here alone and hurt.  

I’m sad. I’m motivated. I’m heartbroken. I’m healed. I’m confused. I’m confident. I’m worried. I’m ready.  

The constant, inconsistent lack of dependability is getting old.

The end of an era.  

In some ways, I’m so ready for that.  

It’s time to let go of my old identity.  

I’m ready to blossom into the queen inside of me. 

I know I’m not healed to where I want to be.

I don’t want him or any other to be my king.  

I’m angry. 

I’m past wanting to help him get there.  

To see and live to his potential for himself and us.

Now, I’m bitter in a lot of ways.

I try to “practice what I preach.”  

Give myself and others grace.  

But—I’m only human.  

And I’m hurting while healing.  

I can’t be who I want to be without that bitterness going away.

They say women grieve the ending of a relationship before the end of a relationship.  

Not all of us—but it’s not uncommon.

I feel like I’m in the anger stage.  

Or—I have been for a while.

I’m so angry at him anymore.  

But I understand anything about the whole situation.

I’m mad at myself.  

I’m mad I’m still writing in my journal about the same thing I have been for 6 years.  

Everything that happens next doesn’t shock me.  

With the way things went, it’s such a textbook abusive, toxic relationship.

I’m angry at myself because the one part that’s out of the normal is the constant validation I gave myself but never valued.  

Every time I read what I’ve written, I feel so much sadness for that hurt version of myself,  

but then I feel hopeful.  

They always end with hope.

As much as writing as if I were writing to someone else was helpful,  

it also wasn’t enough.  

I admired the woman who wrote those.  

She seemed so strong and sound and self-aware.

That’s not me.  

That’s who I want to be.

It almost allowed me the outlet of healing and letting go,  

but still living a life of pain and manipulation.

I cry a lot about the pain he’s caused and the manipulation.

But—he showed he’d do that from day one.

I manipulated myself more than he ever could.

I didn’t believe the surroundings.  

I created an alter ego that became heavy.

Guilt resides in my body, becoming another irrational weight I carry.  

A self-inflicted wound.

Now I feel like the woman I want to be and the woman still lurking inside me differ too much.

Only when I’m around him do I feel like I’m putting on a show.  

The woman I am in his presence is uncomfortable.  

It’s so uncomfortable it physically hurts.

But scared pulling away will hurt more. 

I need to keep my head down and my path forward. 

Things will work out if I keep working on it.