It’s actually Monday as I write this… I’m heading out this week for Camp Widow, where I will likely meet many of you! So I decided to get this one in early.
Six double cranberry vodkas and several hours of dancing later… (why did we keep getting doubles? I don’t even KNOW) and we are back at our hotel. My girlfriend and I are taking turns praying to the porcelain god… It is literally the most drunk I have EVER been.
*sigh* But it isn’t me. It isn’t. And it’s not going to be. Not with him… Ever. And I am heartbroken all over again. Broken open, all over again.
And so here I am, two days later… the physical hangover has finally passed, but the emotional one will not pass likely for a few more days. And I know there is nothing I can do to make it pass any faster. There is nothing quite as devastating as walking into someone else’s happy-ever-after and seeing what you were supposed to have had. What you thought you were going to have. What you would trade everything to have back.
There is just no pain in the world like that bitter, biting, slap in the face – the reality of what you do not have. It is a cold pain, with an icy burn like no other. No matter how long it has been, it twists itself right down into your soul.
So, I will breathe this week. And I will try to take it easy on myself, and maybe even convince myself to get excited about camp. I know it’s gonna be awesome. A little at a time… I will begin to heal up again, until the next time I am broken open. As we keep doing.