I read today’s Debut entry and felt pangs of sympathetic pain. Her life is not my life, but we have certainly had similar experiences. This part was the hardest to read:
“I tried to keep the worst stuff out of the journal because airing my marital dirty laundry didn’t then and doesn’t now seem like a reasonable thing to do in an online journal. It just means that the journal archives are a positive public spin on the private me who I now see was privately putting a positive spin on my entire life. No wonder I talked about the garden so much.”O, I know, Jill. I know. I had no garden, so for me, it was: “No wonder I worked on my website so much.”
The hardest thing to feel while I was reading this entry is the love in my heart that is still there, the good times and the great memories all still there. In Jill’s life, they have been (perhaps only temporarily) blown to bits. In mine, they are all still intact, and I don’t want to tear them down. Although intact memories hurt so much more than ripped apart ones, I have to keep them that way because otherwise, what did I fight for? And what did I ultimately give up?
I believe that putting a positive spin on disintegration is a somewhat valiant act, even if it is misguided, and ultimately futile. Maintaining hope that things will improve is what I have to do to stay alive. There is such a fine line between looking for patches of sunshine and blinding myself with the sun.