I Couldn’t Let Go

In the past two weeks, I’ve been on a decluttering mission. Partly because less stuff? Means less stress. Less excess in my life. Less crap to worry about. And a part of my mind, way back there, also recognized that if me and the husband ended things? It would make it easier.

And I need easy in my life right now.

So I filled up two 30-50 gallon tubs that I bought for this reason alone, and brought them to GoodWill. Then I came home and filled them up again. I was about to take them back to the GoodWill today, when I sort of just…. broke down (again).

I sat down next to one of the tubs and reached my hand in. Worked my way to the bottom. Through the extra shoes and clothes. Until I got to a pair of sweatpants.

Those sweatpants. The ones I took both sets of pills in. The ones that held the blood against my legs when I stood up that Thursday night. The ones that were with me at the hospital when I had the d&c. The ones that I slept in that week, every night, when I cried alone.

I cannot get rid of these. Despite them being two sizes too big, and about three inches too short for my leg length.

I can’t bring myself to let them go.

They’ve become a security blanket to me. My only physical reminder of this entire ordeal. Of my breakdown.

It seems so stupid. SO STUPID. I’m crying while writing this post over a pair of dark gray sweatpants from Wal-Mart. *sigh* But they’re all I have left of a future I chose not to have. And they sort of ease my broken heart.

I think I’ll sleep in them tonight.


~ by shespeakstruth on January 6, 2013.