This is my summer.

I haven’t really felt like writing. I haven’t really felt like much. I haven’t been feeling more sad, but I’ve been feeling less happy. 

This summer just feels like one huge setback. Here I am, in my hometown. In a place I didn’t think I would come back to. Single. Barely emotionally available to date.    And without the one thing I moved here for, my baby. 

The only good thing about living here is time. I know deep down I need time. I need the time to heal, and recover. 

It’s just hard to touch on those emotions. Even now my throat is closing up and tears dripping down my face as I even begin to think and write about this reality. 

Continuously I’m being asked; what’s next for me. Where will I go once the summer is over? 

And that’s the hard part. I don’t know. I don’t really know that I want to continue heading into the future, so much as I would rather go back to the past. 

My daughter is my one solid rock. She’s my motivation to keep going and to do better. I worry so much about failing her. 

I keep putting on this front like everything is okay, when the reality is it’s not. And I keep wondering why things hurt so much, and why I’m not happy. And how or when things will get better. 

This is my summer of recovery, of heartbreak, of readjustments, of healing, and of growth. 


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