It all ends up hurting anyway

Think of the goal. The endgame. Typically when you’re dating, you’re looking for the one person. Your forever person. Your home. The one person with whom you want to grow old. The one that you want to wake up next to every morning for the rest of your life. That is what we’re looking for. That’s the objective. That’s why we put ourselves through the torture of dating. We want the happily ever after: that’s our definition of a successful relationship.

I’m wearing the same grin

I’m not buying into this “new year, new me” thing.
It’s a lovely concept, but I’m the same person I was last week.  I’m not going to list a bunch of goals for myself; I’m not going to blather on about how I’m going to change myself for the better this year.  I won’t whine and complain about how poorly 2017 treated me.  The date on the calendar doesn’t mean a thing: you are still you and whatever happens to you happens.  That’s life, my friends.

Sometimes we are just the collateral damage in someone else’s war against themselves.

These are things my ex-husband said to me before I left. These were all said in one day, in less than 12 hours. This is emotional abuse. This right here. I’m done pretending it isn’t. I’m done pretending that I’m not a victim. I am. I don’t want to be. I don’t want to admit that I am. I don’t want to admit that I let myself get this deep. I don’t want to admit that I let someone have so much control over me.