I’m suppose to write an angry letter in the next week, to Steve. As bad as it sounds I’m not angry at him anymore. I’m so tired of being angry I find my anger to be useless. I have rationalized that his maturity level wasn’t there, that he just isn’t that kind of man and for me to ask him to be anything different was a challenge for him. Was he wrong? Yes. Did he hurt me? Yes. Do I hate him for it? No. I am simply upset that I lost so much. Things were taken away from me. I lost my choice. Which might explain why I am so sure to give people’s choices. I’m pro-CHOICE. I’m pro FREE WILL. I am pro – Picking your own life. Because part of mine was picked for me…
I’m going to have to explain one day, to the man I love that I was hurt. Deeply. That my scars are deeper than skin deep. That I suffer somedays greatly, other days none at all. I will have to explain the feelings that went along with it, I will have to hope for understanding and hide my own shame. I lost my choice for any type of love. Now I need a man who will be understanding, forgiviving, and someone who will love the flawed.
I’m going to have to explain one day, to the children in my life about love. I’m going to have to explain good love, and sadly, bad love. I’m going to have to use example that hurt. I’m going to be more hesitant than my husband when my first daughter starts dating. I’m going to look warily at the boy who walks through my front door with out giving me any acknowledgement. I lost my choice for understanding love. Instead I have had to pick through and find the right love and the wrong love. I’ve had to learn this which means one day– I’ll have to explain it.
I’m going to have to listen to the questions someone’s going to have about religion and I’m going to question them myself. I’m going to have to hide my questions to not further their question in some type of alterior being. I’m going to have to depend on my faith in an empty sense, of knowing that I do not know. I lost my choice to follow blindly. Instead I have been questioned to the very being of what I ever believed in. Life, Principals, Morals, and Beliefs.
Every morning I wake up and I have to convince myself that the lable around my neck that says “Broken” isn’t there. I have to find the reason why I am beautiful, not broken. I’m going to have to hide my own fears to let my children believe I am as strong as I let on. I’m going to have to smile when someone gives me compliments and question them quietly. I’m going to have to fight the urge when someone asks me to Marry them and ask, “Why me?!” I lost my choice to believe in myself and self worth. Instead I worry. I humble beyond what needs to be. I question my own worth, and acomplishments.
I am not mad at him… I’m mad at the choices that were made for me. I was robbed.