“You can’t change the past”

That’s one thing we hear a lot. Don’t dwell on the past, it won’t help you. Why cry over spilled milk. What’s done is done.

I clearly don’t get the point. I’m the person who likes to get my neck broken, looking at the wrong direction - the one behind me.

I don’t know why I do this to myself. But I’m going to be real honest about this. With the thing that happened over a year ago, I can’t help but still look into things. Deeply into things. I still have questions, questions that shouldn’t be asked anymore. Because, well…why should I. Why find out what really happened in between when you have victoriously won the battle. Because the scars will be there forever? Should I know how I really got them in the first place, or just get over it? I had them, I bled. I healed. I scarred. Knowing who, what hit me won’t make them magically disappear.

But there are so many things I feel like…I think my gut is trying to tell me something. Did he really not love her? Was it really over when he dumped me, or was that an excuse? Did she really make the first move, or was it him? Why am I starting to believe the lies she said to my face?

There are a few things in this life I never thought would happen to me. One, is what we found out about my Mom this year (in which, with God’s blessing she is okay, we claim that) and two, being cheated on. Maybe that’s why its so hard to get over. I just never thought something like that would happen to me. But it did. And I got over it. We got over it.

He dumped me, only for me to find out a week later that he really did cheat on me. My parents found out, they hated him for it. We got back together. My parents found out and hated me for it. Now he’s here, all is forgiven, and life is good. But here I am, looking back. Here I am, focusing on her.

Seriously, Abbie. Why stick a knife down your old wounds. What a stupid woman. I don’t know why I do this to myself. I know its wrong, but I’ve sort of become addicted to the pain. I have this hunger of always knowing the truth. I have this itch, this urge of wanting to know what really happened. Like all those questions I had asked him before when we were broken up. “Did you kiss her in the morning like you kissed me?”, “Did you cuddle?”, “Did you hold hands?”,”Did you like it?”,”Did you ever think of me? Ever?”,”Do you love her?”, and all those “detail-crazy,you’re-a-murder-suspect-tell-me-everything” like questions I asked him. I want to know everything.

EVERYTHING.

Because most of the time, my imagination drives me to the craziest alleys on the other side of town when what really happened was somewhere quite near sane and decent. Most of the time, what I think is worse than what really happened.

But I don’t think its gonna help me. Its been a long time ago. She and her fucked up puny brain has worked its way into brainwashing herself that nothing went on between her and my boy (she even tried to convince him that nothing happened, she totally deserves to go to a loony bin), she’s moved on without even having the need to apologize to me (maybe her calling me “shit” was her way of saying sorry?), my boy doesn’t give a flying f about her anymore, but I’m still in that same street, the hate is still there, and it keeps growing everyday, and I’m tired of it. I just want to be happy.

I want to appreciate what I have right now, because God has been blessing me with so much. I want to feel it, in my heart. I want joy. I want to smile like I used to. I’m so tired of dwelling and sulking and feeling sorry for myself for what happened. It happened. I survived. I won. I am so much better than her and I deserve this. But why is it so hard.

I want to forgive her but I can’t. I don’t think I want to. I want her to suffer. I want revenge. I even prayed that instead of all those people dying in the flood, I wished she died. We don’t need people like her on earth. We don’t need wreckers. We don’t need any more sluts.

But I’m not making God happy. I want to say sorry for thinking that way but I couldn’t.

INTERVENTION, ANYONE?