When I feel like I can’t talk about what’s really going on for me, I can’t write; I either go radio silent or I write trivial things.
So there are a few things going on that, as I hinted at yesterday, I can’t write about yet – good things.
But I also still have really hard times, and I haven’t been writing about them because I am afraid of what certain people will think – I am afraid to be vulnerable. I am afraid of being judged.
And I hate that because I know that my ability to be open, honest, and vulnerable is what makes me writing appealing to a lot of my readers.
No one wants to read Suzy Sunshine.
Why do I care?
Fuck if I know.
Well, I do know, but I keep telling myself, as do plenty of others, that I shouldn’t care what “those people” think.
My heart was so deeply hurt, so torn apart; I was so devastated. I lost my shit and was ostracized for it. A lot of people talked about me, judged me.
I wasn’t shown compassion when I needed it most. Come on people, if someone is coming unhinged left and right, maybe she needs a little love, not total avoidance. Not anger.
I felt shunned.
I still feel that way.
And of course, at some level I do understand that I need, and most certainly have, better people in my life than those that hurt me.
But it doesn’t undo the hurt and the shame. And it doesn’t keep me from crying before I have to go into work. And it doesn’t keep me from avoiding certain places because I am afraid of who or what I might see.
And I hate being this person; hate living in fear and anxiety.
And yes, it’s better than it was – I’ve been going to the coffee shop (a few times) which I have been avoiding since I stood in the kitchen and found out about The Party.
Honestly, that moment gave me PTSD.
I felt my heart explode into a million pieces.
Having a party for him two weeks into our split and intentionally keeping it from me was cruel. Especially coming from the gal who had set her sights on him while we were still together.
When an entire family was grieving, the whole community rallying around one of those people to the exclusion of the other 4 sent a message whether it was intended to or not.
Sides were chosen.
And I was the bad guy for coming unhinged.
Again, I question why I still care so much about it. But the wound is so raw.
So here I am, talking about what is really going on for me and feeling like a fool because it is still going on for me.
I feel pathetic and I feel like putting myself out there just gives them more ammunition…
…more fodder for ridiculing me.
And the reality is that they are all probably over it and not even thinking about me any more.
And, it’s been close to a year so maybe I am ridiculous to still be thinking about them.
But I am. I still hurt. I still have anxiety. I still fall apart.
And that’s just the way it is.