The second post I ever wrote, and in fact the first post that I was brave enough to actually publish and e-mail out to a few friends and select family members was entitled Regret. When I wrote this post E and I had broken up and I was reeling. I was trying to decide if an open relationship was something new and exciting because of his introduction, or because it suited me. And in all honesty it took me a few years to be able to start putting into actions what I felt was right for me in theory. I never for a moment regretted my time with him, and I have not since then regretted how hard I have fallen for him in the past few years. We are amazing partners. And yet, I read that post of mine, and I felt a lump in my throat. I tried so hard to edit it, to have it make a little more sense. And yet, there was real and raw emotion to it when I wrote it.
I cannot help but delve a little deeper into why that is, or was. I have heard from many of my friends and peers that my writing style has changed, that it has grown and matured. I smile and say thank you, or that I know it has. The truth is, it is not my writing that has changed, it is me. My perspectives and my views. I wrote
Regret being fiercely proud of my actions up until that point. Almost arrogantly self assured that every action I took, I stood behind. That I could live with the ramifications and move forward with my life. The crushing honesty was though, that I knew deep down, that not being with E was just wrong. I regretted nothing, except the very essence of why I was writing, trying to make sense of me, relationships, and the like. Doing all of this while balancing the pain and the knowledge that the biggest mistake of my life was being without him.
If at the time of writing that post I had acknowledged what I was really feeling and why, I may just have crumbled. Heartbreak and loneliness is something I have a great deal of experience with, and again in that case, it was completely out of my control. I had allowed something amazing to spiral downwards because I was in limbo between theory and actions. I was caught up between falling in love, and having to share. Between being an only child, selfish to the core and learning that I could love more than one. I was a mess, an emotional, gut aching mess. It took me years to re read that post. I am amazed at how wonderful the here is, in relation to that moment where I felt crippling regret and fought everything in me to believe that everything happens for a reason. That moment where annoying optimism collides head on with the unknown reality that something really wrong has just happened. That first pang of real regret.
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