It's over. Two words. Technically a contraction of three words. Yet when you hear them they hit you like a ton of bricks. Even in those instances when it should be over; should probably have never started, it still smarts. It's like driving aimlessly. You aren't going anywhere but it's better than going home to an empty bed in an empty house.
It's over. Those words taste like failure. Just hearing them makes me want to take back all the things I said even if I meant them and they needed to be said. Perhaps it's my dysfunction rearing its head. The appeal of staying in something with no real benefit just to assure your self you're worthy. The truth is, no person defines our worthiness. However, that knowledge is cold comfort when you turn over and there's just the cool side of the mattress.
Maybe as enlightened as my outer adult is, my inner child is equally steadfast in maintaining the status quo. You'd think letting go would be easier when you didn't really have all that much to hold on to, in the first place. It's not. It's sadder even because I feel like I never got to prove myself. I never got the chance to show you how wonderful I am. Truth is it wouldn't have mattered but it would have been nice to trot it out and run it around the yard a couple of times. Rejection's a bitter curative but like castor oil it all works out in the end.