Jar of Hearts

I know I can’t take one more step towards you
‘Cause all that’s waiting is regret
Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore
You lost the love I loved the most

I learned to live half alive
Now you want me one more time

I hear you’re asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms

I’ve learned to live half alive
Now you want me one more time

It took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I had missed the first time that we [met]
‘Cause you broke all your promises
And now you’re back
You don’t get to get me back

Who do you think you are?
Runnin’ ’round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
Tearing love apart

You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all

~Through Fire

I decided to use a slideshow of my pictures taken over the last few months. Moving Mikayla into her dorm. Bedroom upgrades. Our new door and cabinet knobs. My house and the outside world around me moving into another new season, Fall. There’s also a random picture of my incredibly swollen foot/ankle taken in early September. I had a bug bite that seemed to heal normally, and then my ankle began to swell. Within a few days, the swelling progressed down into my foot and it began to look very purple. I finally went to the doctor, and it’s good I did, because I was diagnosed with “septic arthritis”. Which is a scary way of describing an infection in my joint. My doctor wanted to admit me into the hospital for IV antibiotics and steroids, but I convinced him to send me home with promises to immediately begin the oral steroids and antibiotics he prescribed, and that I would come back if my ankle didn’t look significantly better within a few days. It’s all healed now, but that was not fun. There’s a video below my slideshow. I had recorded Mj a couple weeks ago, after we found a pair of Adam’s dirty socks on the couch. She can make me laugh so hard! I often take one weekday off work and then work Saturday, instead. I like having a weekday at home, so I can do at least a portion of the things I never seem to have enough time for anymore. I’m going to meet all my targets, at work, this month. I’ve brought in new customers and new money over my target goals. I’ll receive a big bonus for it. At work, I’m known as “the bubbly one”. Everyone comments on my positive attitude, my smile, and my energy. I could most definitely have been a great actress, clearly. I have started crafting again, recently. I hadn’t so much as looked at my craft supplies, since May. I didn’t even really go downstairs much, for months after. I’m gradually trying to find my way back to the things I once so enjoyed. Oh, and Mj also got some eyeglasses, in August. My poor girl’s got terrible eyesight now. I think she looks adorable, though. Finally, there was hurricane Helene, last month. We did have some flooding, here, but nothing like further East Tennessee into North Carolina. Mikayla, in Knoxville, was okay too.

I’m going to address my reasons for the song I chose as my title, this time. It has come to my attention that there is at least one someone accessing my blog, and this person (I’m actually not talking about Jackie) sent me a text message a week ago specifically mentioning they’d read my post, and that they wish I’d consider therapy. First of all, who do you think you are!? Why does my well-being matter one bit, to you? And Jesus Christ, who the fuck would be doing any better than I am, in my shoes? I get out of bed every single morning, and I do everything I have to do to take care of myself and my family. I don’t need some stranger to teach me how to be okay, because I’m not supposed to be okay. This hell that I wake up and go to sleep inside every single day is my reality, and no amount of therapy is going to change that fact. The only way out of this is through it. I have no way of knowing what lies ahead. Things are very likely to get harder, along this journey I’m traveling. I have been hurt, betrayed, in so many ways by so many of the people I’d have expected would’ve been the very ones who’d be here to help me through this shit. There are days when I’m so incredibly overwhelmed with sadness. There are also days when anger seems to consume me. Somehow, that anger becomes fuel for me. My rage at this situation, for the people who’ve so badly hurt me, propels me forward. I’m motivated by it. Determined NOT to allow this and them to erase me or the shreds of hope that I cling to. How am I possibly going to accept help in gathering up all of my broken pieces, and putting them back together, from the same people who so easily became the hammers used to break me? Am I really expected to trust y’all to give a single solitary fuck about how, when, or whether I can become whole again? Even in my fiercest anger over this, at no point have I ever considered using the “ammunition” I’ve accommodated over these years knowing people I loved. I hold secrets capable of breaking apart relationships and hearts alike. Many secrets that are probably obvious to those who know what they’ve trusted me with. But also, secrets that no one even knows I keep for them. Some of them are unknown to the very ones they’re about and would seriously damage their relationships, career, and/or their hearts. Still, they’ve stayed locked away. Despite all the utter betrayal I’ve felt, my loyalty and genuine love for people who’ve mattered to me remains. I never have or would intentionally inflict this kind of unyielding pain on anyone, let alone those I cared about. I am first to recognize my own imperfections, and I own my mistakes. I’m not a bad person, though. Flawed, of course, but not anywhere near the monster some were quick to believe in. As I stood right there in front of you, and bared my soul for you, all you could see was an evil portrait of me, painted by someone intending to inflict the kind of pain only the most vicious of monsters could deserve.

I forgive all of you.

I can’t trust most anybody anymore, though. So, you know who you are, please stay out of this space I’ve created for ME. It’s the one place I can come to and be brutally honest with myself. I can’t control who reads my words here, but if you ever truly cared for me, get out of my head. This is mine. I maintain control over near nothing. I’m forced to move along like a leaf that’s been blown from a tree in the Fall. The wind decides my path. I stare helplessly at the obstacles before me, begging to just please land somewhere safely. What I see, how I feel, and who I choose to tell my story to, are things I alone should own. I honestly can’t know whether or why some people even care if, when, or where I’ll land. I’m terrified of being tossed to the mercy of the wind like this again. As much as it hurts to admit out loud (or in writing), you are dangerous. I cannot trust that mine or my family’s safety is what motivated you to search for me. Invading my personal space is not how you help me, if that’s what you intended. It’s equally possible that reading about my struggles to survive give you a twisted satisfaction in knowing I’ve been sufficiently torn to pieces that barely resemble the person I used to be. As unrecognizable as I must seem, from me to you, ditto.

I’m going to go take a shower with my husband. Then, I’ll call Mikayla to tell her goodnight, tuck my kids here in bed, and slide into the comfort of my husband’s embrace. I’m strangely finding myself craving the pleasure only Adam’s body can give me. I suppose I’m hoping to escape my heartbreak that’s been poured out here, even if it’s only for a few moments.

Goodnight, y’all.