FWMYKIGI

Every now and then I test myself with triggers. I listen to certain songs, particular albums or look at sentimental photos and I marinate. The heart is a muscle, so I train the hell out of it.

I look at pictures of him and his new chick and think about the two of them cooking dinner in our old apartment and I sit on that for a minute. I think about him doing everything with her that he promised me—the moment I took on his last name.

Why? Who does that?

Me. I want to be immune. IDWTGAF. I don't want it affecting me, because its reality. I have to accept it. This is a process. I'm not going to act like its not happening. I accept it. Whatever the fuck it is.

I accept it.

I don't want any sugar-coating. I'll take it as real as it gets. I'm titanium at this point. I'll admit, it still stings a little. Hell—I'm not fully immune, but I can take it. Problem is… I can't tell if I'm super-human-strong at this point or just getting more and more damaged for the next man in my life. Haha, that's another blog in its entirety though.

#FuckWithMeYouKnowIGotIt