Drinking whiskey and deciding to blog at 12:27 in the morning is usually not the smartest idea, but there are worst decisions to be made, correct? Correct.
Still. I shouldn't have said that I am still in love with him. To be entirely honest (as opposed to partially honest, which I am most of the time), I am not even sure who "he" is. I believe that I am in love with various ideas and paths and possible lifestyles. I want this life or that life. I want whatever carrot is dangling in front of me just because it is there, slightly out of reach. I want because wanting fuels me, temporarily, and helps me to get out of my IKEA bed in the morning. And so it is rather easy to attach the source of my happiness and longing onto another person when in fact they are just there to fill in that gaping hole called "emptiness." Huh. "Gaping hole." Perhaps that was not the best way to phrase it. Well, sir/ma'm, no turning back now! There is no backspace on the keyboard of life, and yes, we have no bananas.
Do not get me wrong; I still desperately care for, in my own bizarre ways, those whom I have loved. I just do not believe anymore that they are "what's missing." What's been missing is honesty. Honesty with myself, honesty with others about myself. I am beginning to fully comprehend this and starting to come to terms with a particular truth I simply cannot deny any longer. And as terrifying as this truth may be, it is also incredibly exciting and such a damn relief. I feel like I am coming home.