Puffification

I was thinking disparagingly about my exes tonight, which is usually a bad thing. I thought: now, with all the fuck-tastic awesomeness of my evolved self, there is no place where you would ever fit. You see, I pine for them still. I yearn for them as though it were years ago. This is unhealthy.

Irrelevant. This word fits perfectly in the now, because metaphorical organisms shed versions of themselves not suited to survive in the ever changing circumstance of reality, in order to prevail in survival. I mean, I compare myself not spitefully, but logically or factually.

I get into this rut of thinking these past relationships contain some present-day worth other than what I have gleaned through introspective reflection, post destruction. I am somewhere far away from where I used to be, which makes parallels useless.

Tonight was week 5 of my support group, which inspired me to create the following list of adjectives: communal, open, emotional, cathartic, safe and joyous. I feel fantastic, which maybe is why I cast aspersions at my past. None of them can now or ever did truly see me for the fucking awesome person I am, even if only a glimmer of it was visible back then. I don’t need positive reinforcement; all the proof is right here! I am the book!

Even if I’m the only one who really knows, at least I found a place in this world where I both belong and can make a difference.

I’m okay. I’m going to be just fine. I need to be both grateful and resentful sometimes. This is real life where shit often hits the fan, which rarely results in anything not having shit stuck to it.

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