This is the blog that won't be written. I've tried for days, but it doesn't want to come out. I've been home for almost six weeks now. Six weeks of family and chores and bad weather.
You know what's worse than six weeks? Six years.
It's my fucking anniversary of being disfellowshipped from the JWs. Anniversaries are hard. Especially when your girlfriend calls you and says your ex-husband who would never have a baby with you is expecting a little girl in August.
I'm happy for him. It might be the time off work or the four therapists I currently am seeing, but I'm done. Six years is long enough to try to get your family back. Six years is long enough to mourn what you've lost. Six years of panic attacks and depression. Six years of wishing things were different. It's time to move on.
Family ties hold strong and they are hard to break. I've had so many people hating on me for trying to hold on to the past. You'll be happy to know I'm over that and looking forward to whatever comes next. On my own. As soon as I leave Nova Scotia. Which may or may not be anytime soon.
In the meantime, I'm working on being happy and it's working. Do I wish things were different? Of course I do. Do I miss my sister, my ex-husband and the love of my life? (Three separate people.) YES. Do I know how to move forward without them? Yes.
Do I wish they had loved me as much as I loved them? Yes. I wish they had wanted me in their lives as much as I wanted to be there. But sometimes you have to take a detour and it doesn't mean you won't still reach your destination. It's just a little more time. You'll get there and so will I.