It was too hard for me to go through stuff and figure out what to take with me, what to throw away, so I just left everything. A few weeks ago, he brought some of my boxes to me.
Mostly, they were clothes and shoes. Things that no longer fit me, either size-wise or personality-wise. They were easy: Throw them in a box and take them to DI.
|my sis and I|
(Confusion: I obviously THOUGHT I loved him. I obviously THOUGHT I was happy. So, why the hell do I still have nightmares about him sometimes? And I'm VERY aware that what I thought was loving and normal was NOT. But reading my own words in my own handwriting professing that I love him... It's confusing.)
I just couldn't bring myself to throw them out. Or even look at them. Until today.
|My grandma made my dress. She's kind of amazing.|
I threw away the pictures of Larry and I. I threw away the pictures of his parents, his sister, his friends, his cousins. I threw away the pictures that I didn't want to remember. I threw away the pictures we took of our honeymoon. Seeing those were the hardest. Why is that girl smiling? Why does she have her arm around him? Why didn't she punch him in his big nose and leave?
And now, I just want to cry. Cry for the nineteen year old girl who didn't know what was going to happen to her next, cry for the girl that thought the way he treated her was good, and kind, and normal...
Just cry. And maybe get a little angry.
(Possible angry posts to follow.)