Pretty Flowers are Hard Work

The last week or so has not been good.  I’ve isolated far too much inside my own little house instead of even simply getting outside on my porch.  My porches are pretty awesome, by the way.

It’s the same old same old angst with the past, that’s wrong.  I’ve resisted writing here the past few days in favor of spending time with my journals, which I neglected for far too long.

Basically, I just wish I could have my old friends back and keep my new friends and live this idyllic little wonderland-life where everyone happily likes me and one another.  I hate that I’ve been downright mean to several people such that they no longer want me in their lives.  And I hate that many of my friends are no longer on speaking terms with one another.

Pretty flowers are hard work and relationships are too.  I’m determined to make peace with my past.  So, here’s what I’m saying on the remote chance that someone I know who may read this who may think we’re not on best of terms:

My door is always open.

I’ve done what I can to make amends, apologized all I know how to do to those I know I’ve wronged.  I can respect that people move on and change happens, in many cases for the better.  I guess I just want to still say, “I’m here.”

This may be cryptic writing for most of you and if it is, that’s okay.  I just need to say it in whatever meager public space this may be.  Reconciling my past is a continual process and struggle for me.

But then again, I’ve been told in therapeutic settings that I don’t get angry enough.  It’s hard for me to get angry with brick walls, though, and when the relationship is over, what’s the point of working myself up over something?  Really.  I’ve never gotten much out of that old exercise of writing letters to people and then disposing of the letter.  Does nothing for me.  Maybe blogging about things will help somewhere down the road, but I doubt this will be the last time I write about broken relationships.

Really, I can only think of one person I have a geniuine right from which to be angry.  And from that person, I’ve asked for an apology and then come full circle to apologize to the person for asking for an apology.  How messed up is that?  Still, I can be angry and sad for the apparent loss of a friendship, whatever the case may be.  And, even to that person, I can safely say after years of therapy now:

My door is always open.

The pictured orchids were my Mother’s Day present from Jared, Porter, and Liam.  Love you always, boys-o-mine.


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