After an argument today with the bf (or ex-bf I should say), it has become very clear to me he has no desire to reconcile and never has. With that in mind, I have given up any hope of salvaging our 3 1/2 year relationship. Most of my anger last night was over this very revelation. I must confess I’m still mystified as to why he doesn’t even care to try. Today, his only feeble attempt at a reason was “we’ve grown apart.” In the breadth of the last year, we’ve somehow grown apart. I could insert some really mean things here but what’s the point? It won’t change anything and really wouldn’t make me feel any better either.
I also discovered he is rather annoyed that I post my feelings on this blog. Several of our mutual friends, along w/a gaggle of nosey watchdogs, read it and run back to him wanting details. I make no apologies for the way I feel. I’ve said nothing here that I haven’t told him face to face. Is he afraid people will judge him based solely on my comments? If so, thats his problem. This is my way of working thru the pain and disappointment of being discarded like yesterdays trash. Ive been there for him thru thick and thin. I encouraged him when he was down and I applauded him when he was up. This is what I get in return. After the way he so casually dismissed the life we had together, Im not even sure I could take him back now.
The only thing left to do now is put it behind me, pick up the pieces of my broken heart and move on.
** I copied this story from an old webpage and I’ve condensed it way down for clarity/simplicity. Even still, its a bit lengthy so you might wanna grab a cup of ‘joe’**
First let me say as tragic as my childhood was w/my foster family it could have been a lot worse. Kinda hard to believe but I’m digressing….
Birth – 1yr:
I was born in the early 1970’s to the not-so-proud parents of Wanda Clem & Roy Seymoure. My mother met my father while he was in the service and after he was discharged they married. I was the 2nd sibling at the time and an unwanted/unexpected pregnancy. My mother & father were hard core drug users before, during, and after her pregnancy. I was born 2 months premature and addicted to several drugs. I spent the first 9 months of my life in a hospital surrounded my machines and strangers. By some miracle, my mother managed to get me home. I’m sure the laws then were much laxer in relation to child/drug abuse. You’d think the issue w/my hospitalization would have been a wakeup call to my parents. Nope! My parents continued their drug habits. I would be left alone in an empty closet or an open dresser drawer for hours sometimes days at a time w/nothing but a pillow and bottle. When CPS (Child Protective Services) found me, I had a diaper rash from my neck to ankles. I was returned to the hospital for 2 months for severe dehydration and related ailments along w/multiple contusions/bruises all over my body. This time I was not returned to my parents. As luck would have it, my real mothers best friend, told my foster mom/dad about me. My foster mother told me once, she took one look at me and fell in love. My adoption was just a matter of formality after that. So I went from being the unwanted son of Mr/Mrs. Drug Heads to the first and only adopted child of Mr/Mrs White Trash Family Robinson. (yes, I’m poking fun here)
Continue reading Tragedy of Childhood