Saturday, April 4, 2015

3 years, and 5 days

It hit me today. My ex husband left me almost exactly 3 years ago.
In 3 years, I have made such outstanding strides, and rarely think about him.


That isn't entirely true.

I still think about him. I loved him.
I loved who I was when we started off, who he was when things were easy.
I wanted to spend my life with him, and he shattered my heart into a million pieces as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

If you've known me for a while, you know that I am a much different person than I was when I was a 23 year old newly-wed, intent on taking over the world. I got kicked in the dirt a few times, and have the scars to prove it. There are times where those scars are almost visible, and I know that will be less noticeable as time marches on. I still have issues with trust, and I still have issues accepting compliments, and I still have a problem seeing myself as a capable human adult. Some of those issues are as old as I am, and some are just 3 years old.

For those of you who weren't around:

3 years ago, I wanted to end my life. For the first time since I was 16 years old, 3 years ago, I wanted to die, because I felt like I was worthless, like there was no point to me being around, when someone who said that they were going to love me forever decided I wasn't worth the effort 8 months in. Out of anything that I could ever have expected, that was the least likely on my radar, though it should have been plainly obvious. My friends showed up and talked me down, and got me to a safe place, and even took me in for a bit so that I wasn't on the streets. I hadn't had a job for a month, but I had an interview the day after, got the job and managed to find an apartment that I could not really afford, and suffered dearly for it.

2 years ago, I made it back home, and I got an apartment after minor couch surfing, which I was glad to have the ability to do, rather than have to go to a shelter or sleep outside. I barely ever had food, and I worked 3 jobs trying to support myself, but I got by with a little help from my friends.

Last year, the apartment that I lived in became the place I had lived the longest on my own, which was such an amazing feeling to me. I felt like I was actually doing something the right way for once. I still didn't do too well at keeping food in my house, but a good friend helped me on that towards the end of the year.

This year, I will be moving into a house. With a bit of hard work, I will end up with a job that will pay me decently, with a standard schedule so that I can also attempt to have a life, and I will prepare for my little sister to come live with me if she needs to next year.

I am so much better off than I have ever been, and if I didn't have my friends and family, I wouldn't be here. Because truth be told, if my friends had listened to me tell them that I would be alright, that I didn't need them to make the hour drive, I would have died that night. I came back from getting smokes, and my friends were banging on the security door in the middle of the night, trying to get someone to respond so that they could find me. I have never loved Kelsi, Tyler, and James more. Especially James. I called the one friend I knew at the time who did not have a license, and he STILL managed to get to me in an hour to make sure that I was safe.

I'm not perfect. I'm not even CLOSE. But I do have to say that for all the things that have changed in 3 years, I am glad that I still have outstanding friends, who care about me and who are there for me when things are rough, even if it is my own fault.

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