Sometimes, I feel that time does not heal wounds as it is supposed to. This is because time does not heal wounds, you have to do it for yourself.
Twenty years ago, today, I was marrying the one who would become the father of two beautifully loved boys, our sons. This was a sunny day, like today where I am at now.
Although the dates are the same, I think I would have forgotten it was the anniversary of my marriage, had I not wondered why I was feeling kind of over-emotional. And because I always tend to analyze (over-analyze?), I realized that was it! Especially because several recent conversations with that partner in life had been pretty tumultuous (understatement intended).
It was supposed to be a happy day, and certainly it was. But it had already so many red flags that will not show on the official picture, but that I will eventually read in those that stayed still in the memory book.
I chose to hide and not to tell, until much too late. I chose to pretend that the story was the one I was making up, showing off, and eventually brushing under.
There was no blogging at the time. No Instagram. No Twitter, nothing to catch glimpses if they were not looked at with the scrutinity they deserved. But I knew. I knew something was doomed, something was wrong and I failed at dealing with it.
It is certainly time for me to heal from my stories. This one too. Twenty years ago I got married to the man I thought would be a soulmate, not another cloud in my path. I now want to see the skies, as blue as they are, and not carry that cloud above my head, over and over. It is time to heal.