The best christmas was the worst christmas. Yesterday, I woke up, cried a little on the phone with my family and the got a chance to talk to most of my very best friends for hours on end. Then I slept for 22 hours. I really needed it.
I woke up this morning, feeling clear headed and rested for the first time in months.
I noticed that somewhere in the middle of the early evening I missed a message on my phone. This is the kind of message you wait around for after your heart is broken to smithereens. If the stages of grief are true, then I spent alot of my “denial” period wishing for this message. The weird thing that happened was that I felt... nothing.
Not a thing.
I didn’t feel happy he was lonely wherever he was and thinking about me. I didn’t feel sad that I missed him. I didn’t miss him. I could care less what he was doing or where he was. I didn’t have to pre-determine how long I would wait to reply so that it appeared that I was farther along in the “over it” part of healing. I literally, didn’t care. I cared more about my pancakes. (yum, pancakes) I felt like, really?
The bottom line that santa brought to me and something that I hope everyone realizes is that:
There are million good people on the planet who love you, adore you, care about you, these people are funny, weird like you, and no matter where you are, or what hotel room you are waking up in can make homes out of the miles between you. I am home in a single word spoken with a best friends voice. These people, they matter.
There is always gonna be that one person, the one who got away, the one who fucked you up, the one who broke your heart, the one you swore you would love forever. That person, who becomes not even a person at some point, but becomes this overwhelming being, this sense of loss that you carry with you. They are not worth it. Seriously, stop crying right now. Maybe you cannot see it right now, maybe all the other stuff that gets tossed in the pile of human relationships makes it very hard to see- but people who treat you badly, are bad.
One boys trash is another boys treasure.
