I sit here. Sunday. Confused. Torn. Sad. Relived. Tired. Drained.
Part of me wants to smile. The smile is coming from a place of not having to fight, walk on eggshells, cry, worry, bicker, play detective.
Then there is a part of me that wants to just cry. Cry.Cry.Cry.Cry...
Like a newborn baby waiting for someone to pick her up and just cradle me until I fall asleep.
Is this normal?
How do I know when its not Normal?
Maybe I need someone who has experience tell me, "Stefanie, He is using and its not your fault."
Is it normal to miss him?
Because I do.
Is it normal to just look at him and think, "Why?"
2 comments:
"Normal" is a word that becomes harder and harder to define.
You're not crazy Stef, and this is not your fault. You can't expect to have any control over Ryan when he doesn't have control over himself.
Trying to find an answer to "why" will only consume you. Maybe the real Ryan is still trapped inside him, if this makes sense. But he has to do the work to find himself; there are some issues at work here which are bigger than him and you I'm afraid.
Until then you look after YOU. You've said recently that you're not going back to him. I really want to believe you honey, you said this before. And if you take him back all I can see is the same old events playing over again.
You deserve so much more.
xoxo
I'm really proud of you as I'm seeing huge progress here!! That part of you that wants to smile... it will only get bigger and you will finally feel like you again. You WILL be happy again.. I promise you this. Not having to worry about another person is is a good feeling. Not having to worry if he's cheating on you or doing drugs is a wonderful feeling.. you will realize this.
A breakup comes with a huge grieving process.. the only way it gets better is to go through it and deal with all of these emotions and to be strong and stick to your guns. The worst thing would be to go back and prolong another breakup (you've given it too many chances for it to ever be able to work..)It can only go up from here babe.
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