A Casualty of War

Let me begin by saying this is not the story I wanted to write.

I had long thought of writing my story, the story of a young girl that never thought much of herself and whom love always alluded, yet who grew up strong, confident, and blessed with an amazing love story. That was the story I wanted to write, one that would encourage young girls or even not-so-young girls to just love life right where they are, love yourself, adventure in life, and believe that in God’s timing the right man will come along. Love will find you, but you first have to love God, trust Him, learn to love yourself and let go of your worry. That was the story I wanted to write. This is not that story.

I am still shocked over what has happened. It doesn’t seem possible that I would have let this happen to me. Because didn’t I let it happen? I let him in. I knew better. I thought it might be best if I just walked away from him, told him as much right from the very beginning. But somehow he slipped through the cracks, found the weakness in my defenses, crawled through the barbed wire I had set up, scaled the brick wall and made his way into my protected, scared heart. And now, because of that decision, barely five short years later, I am suffering at his hands the worst heartbreak anyone has ever felt. It must be. No one else’s story is quite like mine. No one else I know has felt the despair of years of loneliness, has watched everyone around them pair up and ride off into the sunset, had given up all hope entirely of ever finding anyone to love. Right? I am the only one to go through this, like this, to suffer this agony at the hands of someone they love. And in order to heal, in order to understand, in order to survive, I am going to document it. Let it out. To write about the hurts, the pain, the disbelief, so that I might then be able to let it all go. Trace my way through all of the steps that led me to this place so that I will never ever EVER again let this happen.