Beauty in the Breakdown

Or so I imagine. Not that I’m seeing any. Not that it’s helping. But I’ve been told, or I heard it in a song, or something.

Married and divorced by 30. Somehow that sentence reads very much like “fucking failure.” Let’s see what goes in the blanks: not ___________ enough.

good.
pretty.
committed.
strong.
smart.
willing.
brave.
giving.

I know. Sounds like a pity party, and it is. So no need to send me e-mail telling me I’m worth loving and that this is all his fault. Because it really isn’t his fault and I’m not having a permanent crisis of self worth or anything. It is just a bit of an emotional roller-coaster and I don’t know what I feel anymore and I’m sure there is someone else who would be willing to put up with my particular brand of weird. Eventually. But not any time soon.

For the moment, it is just big and bad and scary. But at some point in the future, it is going to be fine again. I’m just not sure when that point is. I’ll let you know when I can see it shimmering in the distance.

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Beauty in the Breakdown

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