June has always been hard.
I’ve gotten into some of the worst relationships of my life on this month, and last year, this was the month when things almost ended between my husband and I.
Yes, a month into marriage.
Yes, that shit happens.
Look—I am one of millions when it comes to the amount of insecurity I carry inside this body. I am not special in this, I am a victim of it. But, FUCK I hate that word, and I hate this feeling and I want out of my brain and would much rather be humming “A Night Like This,” by The Cure instead.
Truths are painful.
I play them like a broken record in my mind until sleep finds me.
Here I am, a year later and still, that damn record keeps on playing.
Fainter, softer, but that humming doesn’t end.
It is perpetual.
Still, I always give in.
I want to be well equipped for this process.
I want to hear this humming, but as a background noise.
Something like traffic or music inside a restaurant.
I preach strength because that’s where I’m headed.
I preach love because that’s what I’m made of.
I am afraid of what I am feeling and why.
But I am in this with him, and that has more depth than “man meets woman and they get married.”
It is more than that.
It is a harsh reminder of going back to myself after being torn to shreds.
But see, I am not broken, I am with missing pieces.
To be continued…