I spent some time this morning trying to remember when I’d last spoken with my parents. I think my mom has called twice since the mess began, but only about work things. It must have been right before my ex-mother-in-law’s retirement party, when I cried and explained how hurt I was for the tenth or eleventh time. Then the party occurred. At that point I decided I could no longer handle the hurt.

I guess that’s been nearly two months.

[Type.]

                                               [Delete.]

[Type.]

                                               [Delete.]

All the things I want to say would just make it all worse.

It’s helpful to have the “clarity” that “this” seems to be “all my fault.”

Wait.  When I’m wrong, I admit it.

When I love, I’m loyal. Too loyal. Loyal to the death.

Whether it’s the death of spirit, death of soul, death of relationship, there I am.

What good is life when you don’t live? Is there any point? What is life with your head in the sand, firmly in denial? What good is life when you can’t be bothered to ever swallow your pride, admit maybe once you’re wrong? To repair damage done? What do you have going forward?

And what good is it to keep blinders on ad infinitem when the truth stands miserably in front of you, in plain view?

Why do I feel like the only person I know who isn’t always afraid?

No, it’s not okay now. It was Kelly’s birthday. That’s all. Nothing else. Nothing at all.

Sad,

michelle