I just feel…woken up. What have I been doing for three years? Is it culminating to something?
In six days it will be the third year anniversary of the fateful trip “-” took with the woman he married after me.
#metoo Jennifer Willoughby. Hash-fucking-tag.
It would have also been my 26th wedding anniversary. And, of course, it’s a lot of other things. Good people’s birthdays, the day after Valentine’s Day.
I hate being a cliché, but I’m pretty done. All the books said three years was it.
Am I headed to more commitment with my bf? Am I ever going to change jobs to something I won’t loathe until I’m 67? Or 70?
Will I be forever menopausally fat?
I’m engaging in EMDR soon. I hope this will help, and yet, I hope it’s not just another method I’m going to try to be comfortable in my life and skin.
I get tired. You know? I’m tired of “trying.”
And yet, what’s my alternative?