My ego is quite bruised.
Every day I struggle with the knowledge that I was not worth the effort to fight for. I was not worthy of a second chance. I was not cherished enough to make things work. I don't say this to lay blame or garner pity. I am fully responsible for the mistakes I made. Accepting my own accountability in this situation does not lessen the pain. Neither does taking the other road of placing blame or shifting the fault on the other party. Either way, I hurt.
Only by spending a great deal of time in therapy and looking inward, will I be able to reconcile my alternate feelings of worthlessness and righteous indignation. Like one of those metronomes on a piano keeping time, I bounce back and forth, dizzied by the swiftness.
I am fortunate that I have a very full life to distract me. I have a wonderful son, a loving family, a busy job, a budding writing career, and two needy felines. I use all of those things to keep me focused and on track. But when things slow down and get quiet, I am reminded of the purple, bluish-black bruise that is my ego. I stare at it, waiting for it to fade into the gray and yellow hues of healing.
A watched pot never boils. I'd better go distract myself. Here kitty, kitty, kitty!
April 6, 2017