It's Not You, It's Me

"I stood still, vision blurring, and in that moment, 

I heard my heart break. 

It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem." 
— Diana Gabaldon 

If someone was to stand there with a checklist, the day would have been a success. Exchanging of Valentine's cards? Check. Roses? Check. A horribly inadequate painting (mine) of the first place we saw each other? Check. A dinner at a nice restaurants in town, an attempt to make smoothies at home, and a baby who fell asleep by 7:30pm? Check, check, check.

What I realized last night, is that there is nothing else Sky could have done to try to make me happy. I was sad from the day before, when we had gone out to buy each other gifts, and the folded up bills in my pocket somehow fell out. When we barely can pay bills on time, losing money in the blink of an eye seemed like such a horrible thing. I really did try, though, after I went to bed that night, to psych myself up for a glorious day.

Instead, I couldn't stop crying. I actually had to take off my makeup and reapply it because it was so smudged. We didn't have time for me to get into the dress I'd planned to wear, so I wore jeans to the nice restaurant. I sat there, looking at all the couples around us, and the ones outside holding hands as they walked by, and I felt so alone. I couldn't speak. I could only think. There are memories that I couldn't quite grasp, but wanted to pull down to the floor and watch them smash into slivers for the waiter to sweep up. I spent most of the time staring at the ceiling so the tears welling up wouldn't escape. I tried to smile for the waitress.

What happened in the past was his fault, without question. What happens now is at least equally mine. He has things to work out, but I have to find a way to get past this- and I can't. I don't know how to un-hurt. I don't know how to erase those flashbacks of what happened. I don't remember how to look like all those others couples who were sipping wine and smiling. It's as if I sat there, trying to act like everything was fine and I was happy, while holding a hand over my wound to keep the blood from trickling out.

In the book he's been using to help work on things, there was a suggestion to make a list of 35 reasons to stay  away from that specific behavior. I'm following along in the same book, so I made my own list- a list of 35 ways I've been hurt. And while he said he could only come up with two or three for his list, my hurt and anger spilled out so easily that 35 things felt like a waterfall rushing from me. At 35, I slammed the lid of my computer, lest I go on any further.

I have so much pain, and I don't know what to do with it. If a boy gives me roses, I should be happy. I think I've forgotten what happiness tastes like it.