And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by

Sometimes I talk to myself.
More precisely, I have conversations.
Not necessarily with myself, but with whoever is qualified to deal.

Don't call the funny farm just yet; let me explain.

There is a lot of shit swirling around between my heart and my head.
Most of it is decipherable.
Like the way I feel about my family and friends, (love 'em) or the reasons my heart drops into my stomach once a month.

But shit happens.  And sometimes that shit is harsh enough that my body doesn't quite know what to do with it.  So those thoughts float around in there until my brain and heart can figure out a way to deal.

Enter self conversations.
It helps me sort out the shit floating around in there; to put said shit in the right category.

Most times a conversation or two is enough for me to figure out whatever it is needs figuring out and I can move on.  Satisfied.

But a few years ago, the rug was pulled out from under me and I've been struggling ever since to make heads or tails about how I feel.

Now in the grand scheme of things, a marriage ending is sad, but not the end of the world.
Right?
So why did this send me reeling?
I have been through hell and back and came out swinging.  So why the devastation over this?
It quite honestly, did not make any sense why I felt so lost and confused...
Every.
Single.
Minute.
Of.
Every.
Single.
Day.

But a conversation I had with...well with myself essentially...last night brought me some answers that I had never considered.

All of my life, I have felt out of place.
Weird.
Crooked.
Insane.

Until I met Shane.
For the first time in my life, I felt in sync with the world.
He made me feel normal, straight, sane.

He was my anchor.

And when he no longer loved me, my anchor was gone.

Knowing the reason doesn't take away the confusion.
I still feel lost and alone.

Weird.

And having the knowledge of what it felt like to belong to this world doesn't help.
I can see it...but I can't touch it.

It hurts, knowing that I let someone have so much control over me.
I guess there is a first time for everything.

And please, please, please don't misunderstand.
I don't love him.
Not even a tiny bit.

But I am quite positive that if I asked him to give me the anchor, he would hand it over.
No questions asked.
I just need to figure out if the anchor was ever really mine to begin with.

And so the conversations continue...