After being home for a week, I arrived back in Nashville yesterday afternoon.
Upon arrival, I felt a feeling of dread in my stomach—I knew I was going back to a place I simply don’t belong anymore. The truth is, I don’t know if I’ve ever belonged here.
God works in mysterious ways. They say everything happens for a reason meaning I was supposed to meet him, fall in love and fight ferociously as it inevitably came crashing down. I can’t help but wonder why the hell this all happened, and what I actually learned from all of it. My father keeps telling me to stay strong in my decision and ensure that I don’t look back and move forward.
I’m trying. That’s what I keep telling everyone. I am doing the best I can.
Yet, I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t hoping to see him the second I got back to Nashville. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t hoping he’d be waiting for me at my apartment with flowers and the most epic apology. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed as I walked into my empty apartment by myself—only to be greeted by the laundry I left behind in a basket awaiting their organization.
I’m destroyed. I’m emotionally raw and incredibly weak. I’m trying so hard to push myself forward. I am trying so hard to go about my days and do the things I love, but I don’t feel happy. I don’t.
Everyone keeps saying that this pain is temporary. It will fade, for only time can heal broken hearts. I don’t think this heart is broken, I think it is shattered beyond reparation. I don’t want to move forward. I want to relive the tumultuous relationship over and over again until I cry myself into a daze.
I find myself questioning everything I’ve ever stood for. Is it really that big of a deal if he talked to other girls? Does it matter if he entertained himself with flirtations? It makes me sick.
I’ve willingly embarked on a cyclical ride of emotional anguish, and I’m unsure if I’m stuck here or if I’m indisposed. This wave is never ending, sickening and disheartening.
This is where I’m at.