Soul Scars

I often marvel that a single event, fixed in history, can seem both very recent and also quite distant.

The Big Break Up happened almost 2 3/4 years ago. That’s 987 days ago, but who’s counting. (I measure from the day he dropped the bomb, not the court order, which took another 10 long months to make official.)  It’s a little surreal. It seems like yesterday; it feels like a lifetime ago.

Fast forward to the present. I have a great job, I love my city. I have fantastic, supportive friends and family. I’ve got the world’s derpy-est dog, who I love to pieces. I’m enjoying life, doing fun things. I’ve rediscovered and redefined myself in equal measures. If I’m not the definition of sanguine, self-assured, contentedness, I can say with conviction, that I feel better about myself than I have in years.

Life is pretty good.

Where are you going with this, you might be asking yourself.

Yesterday, I stumbled across a photo of The Strumpet. (I swear I wasn’t stalking, but there’s that lingering awkwardness of mutual friends to deal with.) While the resolution was poor, it appeared that she was wearing a ring on a conspicuously specific finger. I immediately had an uncomfortable flare of anger. It was fleeting, but what lingered was the shame and disappointment that they still have the power to raise this kind of negativity. I don’t actually even care if it’s true or not; it was more the knee-jerk reaction that made me upset.

It’s frustrating because if I look into the darkest part of my heart, the most private corner of my brain, there isn’t even a shadow of interest. When he made overtures for reconciliation (behind her back, of course) I had no hesitation in telling him to go jump in the lake. Honestly, they deserve each other. That’s not sour grapes – it’s just I’ve learned that I am worth far more.

It is no longer the sordid drama that I lived through that makes me angry, but the fact that it irrevocably changed me. I have scars on my soul that are completely healed, but I afraid will never fade.

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn floats
On down the street till the wind is gone
The memory now is like the picture was then
When the paper’s crumpled up it can’t be perfect again
-Linkin Park “Forgotten”

 

 

 

 

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