write like a motherfucker.

Today was my first day back at work after an epic four days off. Andrew and I decided to take a little vacation to Scottsdale, Arizona for the 4th of July weekend and also take Monday off. It was one of the best vacations of my life. I’m usually not a fan of long car rides (this one was 6 hours) but surprisingly I had a great time. We listened to a lot of This American Life, had car dance parties and just talked a lot. I am always laughing with Andrew. That shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it still does. It’s a feeling I can’t get over.

Once we got there and checked in, we went immediately to the pool. It was a few steps from our room which was so convenient. We lounged and swam for a few hours, before heading in to get ready for dinner. We had and AMAZING dinner at the steakhouse at the resort. Top five, one of the most memorable meals I’ve ever had. We were blown away. So we are heading back to the room to change into our swim suits again (perks of a 24 hour pool) and I’m just drinking in the beautiful landscape and taking a moment to appreciate this moment of my life, which I’m fairly certain cannot get better than it is right now, and I open the door and see rose petals EVERYWHERE. I think I yelped (might be the one and only time in my life that I’ve done that) and ran into the room so excitedly. I was so taken by the rose petals everywhere that it took me a minute to see the chocolate covered strawberries, champagne and card with my name written on it. Nobody has ever done something like that for me before. Needless to say, it was an awesome night and an epic, unforgettable start to our vacation.

Arizona is beautiful but HOT, so we spent most of the afternoons (after sleeping in and ordering room service to enjoy breakfast in bed) near or in the pool. We read books, played cards, and drank plenty of adult beverages. I could not have described a more perfect afternoon to you. In the evenings when it would cool down a bit, we would get dressed up and go to dinner, explore the town some more, and eventually make our way back to the pool for some late night swimming. (That 24 hour pool is key, I’m telling you. Plus midnight swimming ranks among my top five favorite things to do, in life, ever.)

So after two and a half days of near bliss, we decide to take a reprieve from the pool and give our sun-soaked skin a break, and we took a luxurious 2-hour nap. Or, what was supposed to be a luxurious 2-hour nap. (Naps also rank among my top five favorite things to do, so this should have been nirvana for me.) Except, in the middle of my amazing, wonderful, relaxing vacation I had a difficult dream. It wasn’t a nightmare, but it was a personal form of hell, for me. I woke up crying, first because I was feeling dismissed and unheard in my dream – feelings I remember feeling very strongly and they don’t sit well with me. And then, once I was more awake and fully remembering my dream, I was crying because I was SO PISSED that I even had this dream in the first place, and this person who should have NO influence over my life whatsoever, still does IN MY FUCKING DREAMS. On my perfect, amazing, wonderful vacation while lying next to my loving, hilarious, and wonderful boyfriend. And to his absolute credit, this aforementioned near-saint of a boyfriend handled my tears and my emotions with understanding and love. As we talked it out I began crying harder – I think just from the sheer pain of the realization that even in this vacation heaven, I am still so wounded. My life now is incredible. It is ten-billion-gillion times better than it has been in a long, long time. I know this. I am so thankful for this. God’s grace in my life brings me to tears on a bi-weekly basis, at the very least. I am so completely and utterly happy and fulfilled – in my relationship, in my friendships, in my career, in my relationship with my Redeemer.

And yet.

Fear still screams in my face. That I’m not good enough. That I don’t deserve this. That this is all fake.

That I am so wounded I will never really be whole again.

That’s the kicker. I know that now because I’m crying even as I write this. That is the main fear. And I know fear to be a liar. I KNOW THIS.

And yet.

I don’t really know how or what it will feel like to be completely healed from the kind of heartbreak and devastation and betrayal I have experienced over the past few years. I can’t even write about it because there are no words. And what’s more, I’m tired of writing about him. I want to feel pain that is caused by something OTHER than him and what he did to me. I can’t even remember what that feels like. Andrew and I don’t fight much, but when we do I can’t help but wonder afterwards if I picked a fight just so I could be mad at someone else for a change. It’s completely unfair. What I don’t know how to do is to resolve my anger issues with someone who just up and walked out. He didn’t even walk, he RAN. There were exactly five days between when he told me he wanted out and when he left. And those five days he wasn’t even living with me because he had taken that job in San Diego. So he told me over the phone on a Monday night, and came “home” on Saturday and moved out.

And so.

I’m so wounded and hurt and furious and scared and simultaneously thankful and grateful to him for leaving. It’s the mindfuck to end all mindfucks. I alternate between blind rage and immense thankfulness on a weekly basis. Somedays I am so thankful that I swear I would shake his hand and give him a kiss on the cheek if I were to run into him on the street. Other days I know he would be lucky that I don’t own a gun. But even that’s not a real possibility, because I don’t want revenge or even to cause him pain. I just don’t want to be the one that fell in love with someone who could do this to her. It’s that simple. I just don’t want to be her.

And I guess that’s it. I’m the her that gets to live this amazing, fantastic life AND the her that was tossed away like a piece of trash. Living in the midst of that can be terrible and painful, but also immensely humbling. I’m reminded that even when I can’t figure it out and I don’t know how to feel or where to turn, there is one thing in this life that makes sense to me. And at the end of all knowledge and sense and justice, He is holding me and always has been.

And so.

I will continue to write. And I will continue to pray. And I’ll continue to take amazing vacations and read wonderful books and keep trying to remind myself that I don’t need to understand how this will all come together. Just that Fear is a Liar and It Will Come Together.

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