I tore up my favourite pair of jeans today.
And I smiled.
It was the best thing I've done in a long time.
I was in my room, cocoon of blankets around me and I was honestly thinking I'm not the kind of girl who you hug from behind or you give flowers to or buy jewelry for on her birthday. I'm the kind of girl you cheat on. Because I'm lonely and scared of being lonely, so I know how to forgive. I'm the kind of girl you cheat on.And being cheated on took a toll on me. It broke me in half. Any ounce of self-esteem I had was completely wiped away.
And then I looked down at the jeans I was wearing. The jeans. The ones he wrote on. The ones he covered in japanese writing and drawings and animal noises. The ones that said, "Adrian is here" with my hand writing below it, "But he isn't." The jeans that I had stain sticked multiple times without the ink coming out. The jeans that possessed that ink that I didn't think would outlast the relationship. But it had.
So I tore. And tore. And tore. And it felt good. It felt right and free and fun. And I smiled the whole time. I was freeing myself.
I could breathe.