Broken Hearted Runner

"Nobody wants to be the bad guy in their own story."  Someone said those words to me many years ago when I was going through my first divorce. And now, I'm months shy of my second divorce, and here I am again... the bad guy. Not only in my story, but in so many others. Why is it that I'm so willing to accept the role? Why am I not afraid of admitting my faults while everyone points their fingers at me? I mean, what am I going to do? Deny the truth? No. I am not a perfect person. I never have been. I am flawed. I am human. I make mistakes and I accept the consequences. I take full responsibility for my actions. This is just my way. I've always been the person to admit to my mistakes. I've never tried to blame anyone else for my choices. I work hard. I learn from my mistakes. And I try to think of the whole when making decisions. This has proven to be a very successful attribute in my business life. One of my previous bosses said I had "acumen&quo

I've found that writing is sometimes more effective than talking to a friend. Let me explain. When I'm talking to one of my best friends, I talk about my feelings and the issues I'm struggling with, ultimately looking for and receiving advice. But because I am who I am, sometimes I take the advice and sometimes I don't. But when I write - when I'm sad or angry or whatever, and I force myself to sit and write - most times I find that I discover things about myself that I didn't even know, compelling myself to do something to change my situation. My last post, for example, I noticed how physically lazy I'd become. So, I started to incorporate running back into my life. I also noticed that I was sad about the way I spent my evenings all alone and quiet. So, I had a lovely home cooked family dinner last night, with all of the issues and blessings that come along with that (my oven broke in the middle of cooking 40 clove garlic chicken and the girls definitel

At first, I barely slept at all. The idea of being in a bed by myself was sad and when I closed my eyes my mind went to bad places. I admit now to drinking a lot in those first weeks just to quiet my brain so that I could sleep. The problem with that was that I'd wake up shortly after (I never did sleep well after drinking too much), and my brain would be jumping from one thought to the other - 'How did I get here? Did I make the right decision? Why can't I just be happy? Why do so many people have to hurt because of me? Will I be alone forever? Do I even deserve to be loved? Will they forgive me? Will God forgive me? Do I forgive them? I want to forgive them. But I don't. Why can't I? Will I ever feel better?' I sleep much better now. I actually sleep quite well. I guess there are some questions that I've stopped asking. And time has helped me to accept things I have no control over. I stay up later than I ever did before. The dog keeps the empty spot w