More than half of these spellbinding (not biased in the least) posts consist of me rambling endlessly about my suckish, loveless teenage existence (aka #whitegirlproblems). If you can’t tell, I’m bearing an open wound of the cardiovascular type; I myself underestimated its “rawness”. I’m so preoccupied with Mr. Wrong that I am passing up dozens, of potential Mr. Rights.
Perhaps I over exaggerated just a tad, but there are a handful of men trying to “Halla, at dis”, and my own personal problems are getting the way of that. I am essentially cock blocking myself.
Why do we do it? Why do we spend hours of our day consumed with thoughts of the one that “got away”? Maybe it’s a good thing he flew the coop, maybe it’s all a part of a higher plan, and all the pain we are feeling is preventing us from seeing the future benefits them leaving pose – maybe all the tears, pain, and cartons of ice cream will have been worth it.
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