The Souvenir

So if you go waaaay back in the history, you'll see that there is a reason behind the name, The Souvenir. It was never about abortion, women's rights, religious views, politics or anything of the sort. But about the scars we accumulate throughout our lives. Our souvenirs.

Aside from the fact that I'm in the midst of pregnancy hormones, my mind has been racing lately because we're rapidly approaching the 2 year anniversary of when Dayton and I got back together. This also means we are rapidly approaching the 2 year anniversary of when he slept with another woman. Regardless of the hormones, this kind of thing is bound to hurt. Well, it's bound to hurt me. I'm sure lots of girls would be over it by now...if they ever had a problem with it to begin with. It's certainly not that I try to dwell on these things, but my mind tends to store dates. It was hard a year ago when the one year mark rolled around. I figured it would be easier by now, but it isn't. That hurt just doesn't go away. The feelings of betrayal and humiliation still lingers. And frankly, there are so many questions that I still need answers to, it feels like it's impossible to move on.

I came back into this marriage with a full understanding that it would take much longer than the 3 months it took for all this damage to occur, to heal the hurt and move on. I wanted to be the woman who could take such a blow and move on gracefully. I wanted to be the woman who knew it had nothing to do with her. I wanted to tell myself that it meant nothing, that it was just a drunken encounter with a trashy woman at a bar. But I haven't moved on gracefully. I don't know that it had nothing to do with me. I don't know what all happened, and I don't know that it meant nothing. I'm not so sure that she's the low life that I like to think she is.

I've always said that it can take 10x's as long to fix damage than it does to cause it...though I didn't think that it would apply here. I know how sorry Dayton is. I know that he completely lost himself and found his way back. I know that he loves me. But that doesn't answer any of the questions I have. That doesn't automatically take the hurt away. It doesn't keep my mind from wandering not only to that night, but to earlier happenings in our relationship. It doesn't make it any easier.

I wish I could be a bitch about it. I wish I could just be mad. I wish that I could confront her and ask my questions, but I know that nothing good would come from it. I secretly hope that we'll run into her one day while we're together...but I know that would probably effect me more than it would her. I find myself hoping that she's miserable, even though I know that's wrong of me. I like to think I'm better than her, but I know that I'm not.

They're called scars for a reason. They're permanent. Nothing makes them go away.