I will try to convince myself that this will be the last time I write about her. It is funny how we as human beings have a tendency to tell ourselves lies.
There are moments when it becomes easier to ignore the out-of-place feelings that make us question what we really want rather than acknowledge them. Reality remains a constant; it is our perception of reality that changes when life becomes too real. As natural as this defense mechanism may seem, I now understand how cowardly an act it is to hide from the truth. I believe that self-awareness is a quality one must possess in order to grow, and that the only way to acquire this trait is to look reality in the face and accept it for what it truly is.
I recently found myself staring down life’s next path, afraid to step forward for I thought I knew where it would lead. When she left I had no other choice; everything that had been weighing me down was lifted off and I was shoved in the direction that I had resisted for so long. The journey was even harder than I could have imagined, but surprisingly the path did not end. I now find myself on the other side, occasionally looking back to serve as a reminder of how much I have grown over the past six months. The person that I have become is the person that I have always been; a man who was forgotten underneath the denial and disappointment that he let define him.
By developing a sense of self-awareness, I have learned more about myself since this experience than I had my entire life up to that point. If provided the opportunity, I think many people would go back and make different choices based on the knowledge that they have gained over the years. There have been times where I wished things would have happened differently, but I now realize that regretting the past is a complete waste of time. Making mistakes is as essential to life as breathing, and if I could do it all over again I would not change a thing. For the first time in my life I am content with who I am, and I am not sure I could have reached this point any other way.
This will be the last time I write about her. Six months ago I would have accepted this claim and not have questioned its honesty. Now I am not sure what to believe. In a sense, it does feel as if I have finally put this part of my life to rest. When I write, however, the ideas that hit the page are a reflection of the man that now stands on the other side of the path. Maybe I should convince myself this will be the last time. After all, to be fully aware that you are making a mistake does not excuse you from making it.
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