Now What?

That question scares me.

I feel like if I don't have an answer, then I'm failing something, messing it all up again.  I don't have an answer.  I don't know what sort of an answer is fitting.  The best I have is: now life continues as it has, through highs and lows, despite problems that come up, working through things and not letting minutia tear anything apart.  But inherently, that question seems to be asking for an answer that reflects change or an alteration in life.  I don't want to alter anything.  I'm not hurt right now as I write this, I'm just scared and confused because I have no desire to change things, but that question seems to be asking me to.

Except for maybe one thing.  But I don't exactly mean that in any tangible way that could be understood.  Before most of the people who read this blog now knew me particularly well, or knew that it existed, I wrote the post 24 Hours.  I didn't write it out of guilt, although god knows I felt it and still do, particularly now.  I wrote it because...I'm not entirely certain why, but I felt that I had to.  I needed to get that thought out of my head and into words, I needed to explain that particular sentiment that even I don't fully understand even now.

I hate that.  I hate that no matter what anyone says or does, I'm still going to feel like this is my fault.  That someone else's pain was caused because of me.  And you can spend hours telling me that it was situational and that it would have happened and any number of things.  But in part, I hate myself for the fact that it wasn't my heart that was broken in that span of time.

It's not easy to guilt me into things.  Guilt has never plagued me overmuch.  And I can't say that it's overwhelming even here.  But this bothers me and it hurts.  Because I've been there, and I've done that, and I would so much rather it was me.  Maybe a broken heart is what made me the mildly masochistic individual I am today.  Heartbreak is something I've come to live with and appreciate, and that makes it hurt less...but seeing it in others, or not even seeing it but knowing it, perhaps made worse by the fact that I can't see it, can't do anything about it...that makes me feel guilty.

I'm not saying in any way that I wish this hadn't happened.  I'm not saying that I'm not happy with how it turned out.  But it hurts to see how my happiness can hurt people I never even knew in ways that I have come to understand and would do anything to fix.  I don't regret any of it.  I wouldn't have changed what happened or what turned out.  I just wish that it wouldn't have hurt anyone as much as it has.  I'm sorry.