I originally planned to start January with a fresh coat of paint. I have the blog for it and everything. I keep writing a story with a happy ending, but still I'm plagued by open doors. I guess I have something to say, and it starts off a little rough. You see, my parents never actually left. I should start by saying, my childhood was good. I've never experienced anything remotely life threatening. In fact, most kids would envy me. My parents we're amicable, they split their time evenly. The Southwest Airlines flight attendants we're always really nice. I'm not one to endorse passing the blame, my parents didn't fail me. More than likely they have no idea what I'm dealing with, but despite every effort I became good at saying goodbye. I became familiar with the shutting of doors. I know how to adapt to loneliness. I accept when people leave. When I know that they've gone, I wish I could tell them I knew what it would look like. I've been leaving all my life. I've come to expect the back of your head. I'm not surprised by the sound of silence. I am comfortable with loss. At night I pray that at least one person sticks. All my friends must be blue in the face. Sometimes I can hardly fathom forever. It wouldn't be a new year with out a better start. Everyone has their resolutions. I keep trying to figure it out. This year, I want to get used to staying. I want to think you'll be there when I need you. I want to embrace the idea of trust. I have no idea if it's possible, but I'm sure as hell going to try.
Lesson #49: Resolve old issues.
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