Forgetting

There are very few things that hurt more than the feeling of being forgotten. Maybe it has to do with that feeling of living in the past, of hanging onto a tiny bit of hope, when everyone else has gotten over it, moved on, and well, forgotten about it. It's a fragile feeling, an insecure feeling. I can tell myself over and over that regardless of what happens, I'm still me. I can remind myself that God has plans for me. I can lie all I want to everyone else around me saying that I'm over it, that I've dropped it, that I'm moving on. But no one gets it. How is it so easy for others to forget and for me so hard? Sometimes, it eats away at my thoughts so much my stomach starts to ache, like the little fluttering butterflies are dying one by one as time goes on. I sometimes forget to take my own advice, that when you're sad you should allow yourself to feel sad and accept those emotions before you try to change them. I'm not sure I've done that yet. Instead I've thought of all the happiness I should be feeling, all the moving on I should be doing, and all the memories I should be forgetting. There's just something about it that consumes me and the more I try to resist, the worse it gets. All I know is this monster I carry around with me isn't going away as soon as I would like. Welcome to the adult world, I guess.