Conversations with My Sister: Move on.

Thursday, March 03, 2016

“He broke my heart. He took my trust...and broke my heart.
He snuggled into my life at a time I was at my weakest; most vulnerable...and stole my trust.
Put my heart right in his pockets. Walked away with it".


There are probably people you’ve taken for granted. People you met vulnerable. Broke their hearts, over and over. Put their hearts in your make-up purse. And sauntered away.

Or maybe you’re Mary (freaking) Poppins…. always with a little bit of sunshine and lots of love for everyone. Never took any one for granted; never broke anyone’s heart. Never caused anyone the grinding pain you now feel...

That's life. It's harsh.

Your heart’s not in his pocket, or anyone else’s. 
It’s right under your left breast. That’s why you can breathe.

Move on.

"But he hurt me so much. He's a coward. He could have told me he never wanted to talk to me again. Coward, he is".

You think he's a coward? (Whatever helps you sleep at night).

Chances are… he's not.

He's probably dived into a burning building to save an Ebola-stricken 99 year old death-row inmate.
His courage level could be Superman-high, or courage-the-cowardly-dog low.

It doesn’t matter.

It's not his chivalry you’re concerned about.
It's your ego.

Just move on.

"I wish I could see him suffer, like he made me suffer... or worse.
I wish I could see him penniless...friendless...happyless… and then I'd laugh ha ha ha! in his face. (With one last HA!)
And the pain will be gone".

No it will not…

You'd either still be so stuck on him you'll give him all your money, be his sole friend in the world, and make his happyness your sole motivation.

Or you’d have so moved on that you'll feel pity for him…give him all your money, your shoulder to cry on, and decide to make his perpetual happyness your ‘parting gift’.

But it won't happen.

He'd probably forever be nibbling on his caviar... sipping his bloody mary, martha, and all their kith and kin on the rocks, and going on a safari every other day. Living the life he loves to live, while you pine away to death. One miserable tear at a time. (Drip. Drop.)

If you're lucky, he remembers your first name. Your last name would be pushing it.

No... he doesn’t remember the colour of the ear rings he gave you. (You'd be one too many to count).

Yes, he's forgotten the colour of the last shirt he saw you wear... or the blonde streak in your hair.

You can’t hang yourself.

Move on.

"It hurts so much. I'm usually wise about these things. He hurt me before, and I let him back in.. to hurt me. Again".


Nobody’s ever really wise about 'these things'.

I remember when Roger was just a puppy... I'd let him come, snuggle at my feet... and he'd pee a little. 

But he was my cute little pooky pie. So I let him. Every Single Time.

You may let the one you care about pee on you. 

Thing can revel in the pee, caress its smell, and endure it forever...

Or you can wash it off.

And potty-train your dog. Or sell it.

And move on.

"How? How do I move on?? I feel like such a fool"

So you got the memo? Ok, forgive yourself your unintelligence.

Read more. Expand your knowledge. Invest in your brain. Keep your mind busy. Learn wide.

Or… maybe you're no fool.

Maybe all you need is to just move on.

"What if I run into him again? What do I do? How do I act?? It’s too painful, too scary to think off".

First off...look where you're going, not to run into 'him', or anyone.

Half of America is divorced/broken-up. Yet...they don’t go into a war when they "run" into each other.

If you're in a nice enough mood, you could fix 'the smile'.

If you're not, you could shove 'the smile'.
After all…. your cat could have just run off. You're fishes could have just drowned.

Or you could be just pissed.

You owe no one an explanation. Least of all, him.
It's your face. Your 'smile'. Your ‘non-smile’.

Unshackle you. Move on.

"This way I feel...hurt…angered...pained. How do I stop it?"

Don’t 'stop' it.
You can't 'stop' pain. It must run its course.
You can decide to get past it. With time, forget it.
The key?

Move on.

“I confided in him things I thought only he would understand. He made me feel I could trust he was one of 'the good ones'”.

How many times has the government made us feel like we could ‘confide’ in them during elections, like we could trust them? What did they do with it??

Confide in someone else. Better still… confide in you.

Sometimes, there are no 'good ones'. Or 'bad ones'. There are just humans.

Grow up. Move on.

"I did trust him. He seemed like a good person.
I thought I'd found my own 'buddy'.
He seemed like such a good person".

The spider seems like a good person to the fly; the fly’s gut won’t lie to him. The fly never regains life to discover his gut lied.

The lamb seems like a good person to the goat; the goat’s gut won’t lie to her. The lamb never stops being a good person to the goat. Her gut did not lie.

Sometimes, you can tell. Sometimes, you can't. Sometimes...

It doesn't matter.

Just shrug it off…

And Move On.

(I don’t have a sister. I wish I did. Sometimes, I have conversations in my head I like to think I'd have had with her, when she comes to me with man-woes)

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