I wanted to write about this girl. But I can’t. I don’t know her. I know what she looks like, and that she cries when she can’t find a parking space. She has a bad relationship with her father which she takes out on her boyfriend. That it takes her hours to put her make-up on, to then maybe not even leave the house incase she runs into someone who knows her. And I know she stalked me online. She went through all my pictures and words. To see if I was still talking to her boyfriend (I was). To see who I was. To justify why she hated me. To show she was right to have me blocked from my best friends life.
I tried to talk to her even when he told me not to. But there was such anger from her. Hate.
That’s why I can’t write about her. I just don’t understand this way of thinking. She’s everything I’m not. Yet we both have our insecurities, love music, art, tattoos, travelling, animals and probably have a whole lot more in common. We both want him to be the best person he can be and to love and support him in that. But apparently that’s a competition and she wins. Only she doesn’t. Every time you limit your world, let your fears take control and win, you lose.
And this whole thing has taught me, that yes I’ve made mistakes. That I’ve been appallingly horrendous when I’m hurt and fighting for something I believe strongly in. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done. But I’ve tried. Apologised. Tried to fix things. And I’ve made changes within myself to not be like that again. You’re the only person who’s put yourself back together. Only you know all the pieces. So only your opinion matters.
You don’t get second chances (often), so make the most of everything. Look for the magic in life because it’s out there in bucket loads.
I’m still broken hearted. But even that helps me to see the world with more compassion. Now I live each day as if I’m dying. As if the world is about to die. Because one day I’ll be right. And I don’t want regrets.