It’s been over two years since my engagement ended in unusual fashion. In hindsight, it seems unlikely that the relationship would have lasted, and surprisingly that it did last as long as it had. Roughly three years. Our twelve-year age difference (me being the elder) was likely to difficult to maintain.
Still, the resulting emotional disturbances I face were unexpected and traumatic. And it was only with the most tenuous strings that I was able to hold on to a semblance of life.
In the coming months I’ll write pretty openly about it, and some of the other tragedies that arose previously, including the death of my grandmother which resulted from an automobile collision, the onset of what was diagnosed as an autoimmune disease, and a period of incarceration (though I don’t necessarily view it as tragic).
The difficulty I’ve faced in writing on here has been wanting to be more open, yet still feeling the need to perpetuate the use of a facade. A social mask, pretending to be more well-adjusted, or acceptable, then perhaps I am. But I’m getting nowhere doing that.
That’s my commitment. That I’ll be open and honest on here, as I try to do in everyday life.