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If I told you the past few days of my life have been crazy, that would be putting it mildly. It’s been more like this insanely emotional rollercoaster ride that I’m so glad to have finally escaped from.
I’m free from the mental insecurity and, as of two days ago, I have a tattoo to prove it (more on that in a minute).
Yesterday when I started writing this post, I’d gotten up to something, like, fifteen paragraphs. It was insane. There were too many details. After keeping quiet about this aspect of my life for so long, I think my little typing fingers were going "whhhheeeeeeee!" with the gleeful freedom of it.
But I woke up this morning and I was over it. I’m not entirely free of all the thoughts and memories of everything that’s happened – that will take a bit longer – but I’m free of the need to talk about it. I got all the talking out of my system yesterday (thank goodness for friends).
You know something else this whole experience has made me think about? The fact that even though I don’t blog anonymously (I’ve used my real name on my blog from the beginning; I use the real names of my family members and the city where I live; I post photos), we are all still anonymous. We have control over the amount of information and personal details we disclose. If you’ve visited my blog in the past x-number of months, you might have heard references to me doing such-and-such with "a friend." But would you have known who that friend was? Or that the "friend" in question was usually the same person (because everyone else was identified by their real name)? Of course you wouldn’t have known.
On Friday night, in the midst of all the craziness going on around me, I decided to go ahead and get the tattoo I’ve been wanting – the Chinese symbol for strength, on the lower left side of my back, right above the waistband of my jeans. For me, it symbolizes both increased physical strength (something I decided I wanted to do after accomplishing the push-up goal), as well as inner strength.
I still haven’t come to terms with certain things, like how someone could attempt to justify hurting not just one, but two women. There’s absolutely no excuse for it, and whenever I think about it, it makes me sick all over again.
It makes me so sick, in fact, that I haven’t been able to eat much of anything for the past few days. I’m starting to get my appetite back, but when I got on the scale this morning the number it registered was lower than what I expected to see.
But you know what? It’s fine. I’m doing fine, and I have a feeling that my life is moving on just fine, too. I’m sure I’ll be involved in something else very soon (maybe even WITH someone else), and then this whole experience will be completely in my past. It will only be a memory; and even though I’m sure something will happen occasionally to remind me of this time in my life, those memories will only be fleeting and I’ll be glad that I lived and learned.
Everything happens for a reason.
Related reading:
Nickizen said something that struck a chord with me, because it’s how I’ve described my experience many times: “You never know who these people may be but when you lock eyes with them, you know that every moment that they will affect your life in some profound way.”
Little Miss believes that people come into and out of our lives for a reason, but “we often don’t know what that reason is until the time has passed.”
Virginia’s “everything happens for a reason” experience was learning to trust her sense of adventure.
(Contributing editor Zandria also blogs at Keep Up With Me.)
