It’s Father’s Day. The kids went to dinner with their dad while I opted for free time. I cried while watching a low budget romance on Netflix. I don’t even remember the name of it. I took the most relaxing bath. Thought about how much I needed time alone during quarantine.
Then there was something in my eye. I tried flushing it with water, but it made it worse. The result? A bloodshot red eye that hurts like hell. Maybe I need a nap, I think to myself. But I’m unable to get comfortable because of my damn eye. Maybe crying will help. What thoughts would make me cry? I settle on what feels like failure.
I’ve never written a blog about this, but I was in love once. Like madly in love. That I’ve found my soulmate type of love. But I messed up. Or rather, I feel like I messed up. But… no one really knows what the path untraveled really had in store for them, right?
Anyway, I loved someone with every part of my being. I still do. But I was afraid of taking a chance. I was afraid of the unknown. So I decided to end it (childishly, might I add). I decided on the safe choice that resulted in a loveless marriage and two beautiful children.
I said on my wedding day that getting married didn’t feel right. You’ll get over it. It’s just jitters. Everyone gets them. But that feeling of dread? It never went away. I wanted to be happy so I pretended for over a decade. But I’m tired.
Thanks to therapy, I can see my faults and admit that I was wrong. That I was selfish. That I broke the heart of a man who I truly believe really loves me, even though my heart is somewhere else.
But the past cannot be undone. Maybe I needed to cry to be able to move on.