Last night I had a horrible dream that I was being slowly killed by giant scented candles. It was like a Bond movie replacing the sharks and lasers with rows and rows of candles sucking the oxygen out of the air. Coconut-scented hair conditioner and Canadian wild fires can really mess with the mind.
As happens too often, I woke up this morning with a clear realization: I was the reason for our breakup. It wasn’t because he did not want anything long-distance, or that he couldn’t handle a relationship right now, or any of the other reasons I wish could be the case. He did not want a relationship with me, specifically me, so much so he barely remembered to tell me before he moved on.
This thought just smacked me across the face. It took me a while to acknowledge it, but here it is, it is all about me. For once maybe my narcissism is valid.
I let it sink in, I walked for a bit to get the blood flowing so my brain had the proper nourishment for swirling and when I was done I determined it sucks, but it’s fine. It has to be. I can’t change the situation. I am not going to change who I am and wouldn’t if I actually could.