WE.

We walk in these rubber-souled shoes. Strides set long ago, a gait affected by weight. We have known about this since we were young, that we weren’t those people, but this person. We saw "those guys," but never considered them any more than a background character. Instead, we joined the military, fought, won, came home, then real-life hit. When we got home, that is where we met Becky and we thought we were doing what we were supposed to do, plus it felt good to be cared for.
We met you, after a deployment to Afghanistan, after a few rough years of drinking, justifying a lazy existence. We thought you were cute, and once we got to know you, you were a really genuine guy. We liked the way you made us laugh, at first. We like the attention you gave us, and what seemed to be us alone, for we never got that from our father. Our father was a drinker, but you are not like him, he was sick, you are a casual drinker, plus, you don’t hit us, you hug us, remind us that nobody will ever love us like you.

She shouldn’t have met him. We were the man in her life, she didn’t need him. Didn’t we raise her right? Teacher her to be independent? Now she is with this guy and he breaks her down, just enough. We see it when they come over. We see it when he asks her questions about who that was on the phone. We see the distrusting eyes gazing at her with contempt. We should have done better, but we were too sick at the time, too selfish to do what we needed to. Our drinking was excessive, for we believed it was accepted, unknowing the detriment it caused, until we struck. We are and forever will be sorry for the damage that was done.

He shouldn’t have hit us. He shouldn’t have lied to us, convincing us that he was our lover for life. The drink struck him down, while we watched, accepting every subtle discount that he told us. Why was he so sick? Why couldn’t he love us like we needed, what did we do to make him that way? Why are we so lonely now, we were supposed to leave after all. Now we have one friend, a divorced woman, who lays by the apartment-sized pool. She lounges by the side, fingers in water, her one-piece sagging off of her slumped shoulders. She is thin, for this may be what she holds on to of a former life she once had. She told us about her “old life,” the husband with the six figure income, the child who was too sick to hold on. The fall-out.

He was our love, until we had him. We carried him around for 9 months, gave him the best parts of us, the parts we sacrificed. It wasn’t the scars, it wasn’t the painful cramps, or the sleepless nights while our original love slept soundly, after all, his career seemed much more significant than ours. We gave ours up to move here, for the better pay, the better environment for our little boy. We are like detached balloons now, suffering at the mercy of nature. When we lost him at 6 months old, so suddenly, things no longer made sense. The barriers between the rules and expectations blurred as the suffering encompasses all. We are alone now, an alimony payment keeps our apartment, a roof over our head. We sit by the pool on any day it’s not raining, watching all the others who don’t work, whose ex-husbands make enough to support our “lavish” apartment lifestyle. I can’t help but wonder if any of them understand what we are going through, knowing that we want connection but have already lost so much.
I am you, you are me, the ego’s need to keep us as we are, stringent. Why do we choose to engage in ways to reinforce the barriers between each other when it serves us better and more efficiently to come together, get along, grow as each other grows? I am all those in pain, for I know worldly pain as well. I am all those disgusting people in the world who’s actions more heinous, yet with some sort of reason. I am able to see that I have put up barriers between us. We are all lonely now, suffering, our free will allows us to choose and we choose to distance, yet yearn for more. We are to love all, teach and instruct. I am unworthy of even a morsel from God, then Jesus’s death on the Cross for you, makes you and I the same.

When you read parts of me you don't like, that may be you reflected back. Castle-Broken: When appearances are everything, available on Amazon. Click Here. For Body Image disorders affects people in some way. 
God Bless. 



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