Bomb #3

I can't say I'm surprised.

Maybe that's because I've continued to assume that's the case, without actually knowing for sure, as a way of protecting my heart from exactly this.

But it still knocked the wind out of me.

I cried, because it still hurts. Even a year and three months after hearing it for the first time. Even seven months after hearing it for the second. Even divorced and moving on.

It hurts, but not like it used to.

I didn't have a panic attack. (I haven't had one since bomb #2).

I didn't even have nightmares last night.

Maybe it's because I finally stopped hoping in his direction.

Maybe it's because I just care less.

I'm angry, but less on my own behalf. Mine wasn't and isn't the only heart assaulted by this.

The places where I'd started to feel compassion dissolved back into disgust. Historically, it's been hatred. Disgust is not new, but it holds a different space this time. Where hatred feels invested, disgust feels more removed. That's an improvement.

Strangely, the strongest feeling I have is disappointment; and not even really for myself. I'm so unbelievably disappointed in the absolute depravity of it all.

I'm pretty sure I've felt enough disappointment in the last year to last me ten lifetimes.

But it didn't knock me down this time.

I can feel it without it suffocating me.

I can feel it and still be okay.

That's progress.

That's victory.