I guess processing is the right word. All kinds of things keep coming into my mind. Some painful, some not so much, some with the power to make me stop breathing.
I feel like a kid and I just want to beat my fists on the floor and cry "why, why, why?"
H has said some very nice things, and I guess I need to think about those when I stop breathing. He told me yesterday that he never wanted to cause me this kind of pain again. The hurting child part of me thinks that he doesn't have a clue as to what kind of pain I am in, and for a few seconds I really wish he could experience it. Then I remember that I love him and I really don't want him to feel this. But her, I don't love her, and I would gladly let her experience it.
Round and round my mind goes.
Most of us are about as happy as we make up our minds to be.
