Sometimes, it isn’t about the right thing, it’s just ANYTHING. Yes, of course you want to move forward and get better, but simultaneously everything is hard and painful and often just easier to rationalise your way out of. I spent most of December convinced the next day would be the one I got sick. With two days to go, my left foot/ankle has begun to spasm, there’s a sore point behind my left kneecap and these things previously would have sent me into meltdown. Now, frankly, I don’t fucking care.
This is a space between different people. The woman who existed before my husband’s positive test, on the back of the eldest testing positive too was really, truthfully, not nearly brutal or ruthless enough. This woman knows what needs to happen for the tide to turn. How you view the world is absolutely key. It’s the difference between 40 km and 100 km, when there’re easier means to do both than the ways you initially thought were, in the main, intractable.
It’s the difference between capable and assertive.
How I look and how I feel are now two distinct, separate beasts. When I’m done here I’m going upstairs to throw quite a lot of stuff away for good. There kept being this promise it would happen, but it never did, because the part of me remained that thought what was needed was to fit back into the lives I left behind, instead of burning them to ash. This was never about going back to where it all began, either. This should always have been a push away, as far as possible from what is still there, taunting and being generally unhelpful.
Really, truthfully, everything needs to burn, this time for good.
There are plenty of matches.