I think what people don't realize is that no matter how much they hurt me, I've already been cut deeper and survived.
I wasn't invited to a friend's birthday dinner this evening.
He hasn't called.
My housemate brought home dinner and left mine in a box, while plate-ing theirs and eating it in their room.
It made me feel isolated and hurt. Single. Lonely. I'm single, but I'm not lonely. I ended up at a friends picking something up from her for tomorrow's costume event and having a lot of fun. I spent the rest of the evening home relaxing.
I surprised myself when tears started falling. I miss him terribly. I like this new guy more than I should, and I know he's always going to let me down. I hate it when a bucket with a fuck in it appears in my hand. I need to remember my faith in the future. Someone new will come along and shake things up, and I'll wonder why I was hung up on a known disappointment. But right now I care and it hurts.
It's just a small hurt, though. I can handle it. I've lived through the last year and the four years before that, and this is not even a thing.
No man will ever hurt me again like that. I can't say for certain that's the worst thing that will ever happen to me; I can say that I've survived it. I have so much to do here, and I'll keep on surviving.
Oops, there goes that bucket of fucks.