There are lots of bloggers who start blogging because of a breakup. I started blogging because I wanted to break up. I eventually wrote my way there, but it took many months. Too many. After I wrote myself to the breakup, I spent the next six months writing myself through the breakup.
Once we write ourselves through the breakup, what then? I worry that there’s nothing else inside me.
Where I stand now, I can see for miles in every direction. Looking at what lies behind fills me with an odd mix of disquiet and comfort. Despite the familiarity, I feel an urgency to change directions. Anywhere but toward more of the same.
I’ve always written the script. The men I’ve chosen to play the supporting roles have waved their undesirable traits at me like a matador waves his cape at a bull. And like the bull, I’ve found it intoxicating. Rotten men are a drug. A drug it’s time I stopped using.
I can choose someone different this time. Can’t I?
Can I free myself from the effects of an abusive childhood? Does anyone ever really free themselves? I need to know that it happens. I need to know that it’s possible.
I’ve been writing since I was a little girl, carrying a notebook and pencil around with me wherever I went. The little girl who pushed her kitten around in a baby stroller. My writing will never dry up. But it’s time the pull toward rotten men did.