June has been a whirlwind for me, I really haven’t had a good day off in about 4 weeks. Only a couple more days and I will be through this round of crazy and on to something less so. With the tornado of family events, crises, cardboard boxes, dumpster runs and numerous slices of pizza in the last month I have watched my stress level rise. Funny thing is, I didn’t realize it was rising, I wasn’t feeling the intensity of the stress. The only thing my body was feeling was sore muscles, sunburn and maybe a hint of a crush on a cute boy. *wink*
It is really no secret that I have not handled “love” in the best way since August. A huge part of my life was forced to die back in August and it has been one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I have received a lot of pushback recently on how I have handled myself in “letting go.” I get the hint that many are frustrated, which has been hurtful, but I keep to myself and really no one has any idea how frequently I miss Tim and the relationship we had. Oh well, I suppose life goes on.
Nearly a year later and my heart is beginning to mend. Even still I am finding dark corners in my heart that are home to more damage and heartbreak. In the middle of my living room surrounded by cardboard boxes I discovered another one of those corners. FEAR OF BROKEN PROMISES
Or maybe it is a lack of faith in people.
Saturday marked the day I would be moving out of my own apartment and into my parent’s home. I had lined up some trusty guy friends and their truck to help me haul my furniture. However, they were planning on hiking a 14er in the morning and there was a deep part of my gut that said they were going to back out because they were too tired. With no one else to help me, I was a little worried about what I would do if they decided they couldn’t help.
A phone call later two other friends offered to come over and help. Unexpected. They held the fort and hauled lots of boxes for about 2 hours until my car was full to the top. As they left, lo and behold the mountain climbing guys show up. :-) Not only did they haul all of my furniture from my 3rd floor apartment all the way to Evergreen, but they helped rearrange said furniture numerous times in and out of the kitchen as my family and I tried to figure out where everything would go. And they did it with loads of patience.
That evening I sat in my new “bedroom” and thought back on the day. I went into the weekend fully expecting everyone to fail me. I was prepared to be left abandoned to move all by myself.
Why couldn’t I trust that people would do what they said they would do? Why of all the people in my life do I expect this group of people to fail me most?
Heart and head still swimming, but I have a feeling that it has something to do with all the guys that have so epically failed me in the last 4 years or so. Maybe “epic fail” isn’t the right word for all of them. Maybe breaking an “epic promise.” It seems that little by little this wall has been built up around my heart and I can no longer trust that people will do what they say they will do. Especially if they are of the male persuasion. Well, that’s sucky, huh?
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that one of these mountain-climbing, furniture hauling guys has captured my attention recently. Maybe because of how my gut jumps in excitement when I see him I expect him to fail me.
Why is it so hard to trust that people will follow through. Yes, people are fickle creatures and they are bound to fail us sometime or another but if they fail us every single time and are constantly letting us down, then why are they still in our lives. If they are still a part of our lives then we must see something in them worth keeping. They must have something about them that causes us to trust them with little pieces of our hearts.
Maybe I should give them a chance. They may not be the people I had to leave in Golden, they people that I miss daily. But I cannot assume they will fail me, maybe I am cared for here and I really have made friends. Maybe I really am not as alone as I feel.
Photo courtesy of jazza
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