I don't know where to start, I would be lying if I said I wasn't struggling with anything other than self-esteem issues at the moment. For the past several months, I have been struggling with probably the most traumatic experience of my life and its aftermath. Actually, one of the reasons I started blogging was to direct my energy elsewhere and have something else to focus and obsess about.As I type this, I am having the biggest debate on whether or not to share the actual story because it is simply too personal and the thought of having it (or even just bits of it) out there makes me feel incredibly vulnerable. So I will say this, the issue I am struggling with is not much different from grief. I am not grieving about a person because nobody died, rather, I am grieving about something that could have been and something that was exciting and wonderful and special at one time. I think I passed the denial, depression, and bargaining stages (I don't think I am experiencing them in order) and am now currently stuck in a state of bitterness, hurt, and anger. It's not a good place to be and I don't like it, in fact I am embarrassed that I am still hung up on what happened. However, as of now, I refuse to forgive or forget.
By no means did I write any of this as some sort of teaser; I simply don't want to make up another topic and write about something else when I am obviously struggling with this one thing.
Yeek, sorry for the incredibly ambiguous and angst-y post, I shall return tomorrow with better content, cheers!
