Covid redux wasn't fun. The first three days were harder than anything else, I had discovered he had blocked me from socials at the same time, and combined with fever and chills, it was fucking obnoxious. By the time Covid's recovery came around, he did too. Except, we've been bickering nearly every weekend since, which hasn't been much, like under a fortnight? We've gotten into arguments more than twice over someone else, and somehow all my past wounds and triggers have been activated seeing the intimacy between them. Of course, that meant rehashing time with the therapist and going over things from a decade ago to understand why I am hurting this much. However, I know for a fact, that I don't deserve this discomfort and somehow I am at crossroads between trusting myself or trusting him. 

I just want to go back to the time when the biggest worry was a piece of work I was struggling to finish. Suddenly all of that looks rosy again. Being in over your head for someone doesn't help if you're anyway struggling to cope with all the bottled anxiety. Once it pops open, even the universe can't help you. 

What can I say this year when I barely remembered the anniversary? One is to keep writing and trying to keep it as honest as possible and the second is to keep it going no matter how hard it gets.  

To punish me or rather tell me of the impact of this episode, I cut my hair. There was no thought or preparation, just a bit of a jolt I needed to accept this new me, the one who forgets anniversaries and forgives people far too many times and lets people run over her. I hope she grows up like the girl at 15 grew up. 

new hair new me