It occurred to me a few days ago. How much time do we spend trying to move on from something?
I don't know why I thought about it either. I was just thinking of random sentences when this particular thought struck me. You don't move on when you try your hardest to move on.
Odd, because ideally, you're supposed to convince yourself first that you have to move on before you start moving on. The acceptance stage, as they call it.
But then I looked back over the many times I tried to move on - from heartbreak, mostly - and realized that nothing really happens when I consciously try to do it. This is not working,
I thought at one point, seven years ago. I have to get out.
But the more I repeated that last line to myself, the more I sunk deeper. The more I sounded desperate. And then, before I knew it, I was out.
I mentioned the idea of distractions before
. It keeps your mind off things. It keeps you occupied. It gives you something else to think about.
It mostly works. You have something new to be excited about, and somehow it trumps what you were excited about before - what you are disillusioned about now. (Of course you're no longer disillusioned. You're distracted.) There will be times, still, when your thoughts drift back to the past, preferably while thinking of random sentences, and you go, what went wrong?
And you unknowingly feel terrible about yourself. And then you start blaming the other side. And then you tell yourself that you have to snap out of it. It never really leaves you until you plunge head first into that distraction again.
Time will pass by and you'll have those thoughts again. What went wrong?
Suddenly you'll be able to address it in detail. You have so much in common. What went wrong?
Of course, it's possible that there really wasn't anything in common before, that you changed to suit the situation, without realizing that it didn't work. But that never occurs to you. Look at you, acting like nothing happened. You barely realize that there's a rift. But you know there's supposed to be a rift. But you've forgotten about most of it now.
And then, when it's over, you ask again. What went wrong?
You look back at what just happened, as opposed to what happened before, and you realize you did what you never thought you'd do.
Of course, it doesn't change things. You don't have to forgive anyone, nor forget anything. I haven't. In all those instances I certainly haven't. I still think certain things should be acknowledged. I still believe certain people have fatal faults. But suddenly, it doesn't matter so much anymore. You've opened the front door and you've done what you weren't supposed to do, only because it felt right at the time. Like nothing happened before.
It shouldn't have happened. You'd fret then. But I don't now.
That's when you know. But you never say to yourself that you know. You don't need to.