Political Pop Cop: John and Elizabeth Edwards (Repost)

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1/29/10

Come here John Edwards and your little baby too! Wait. How’s this instead? Come here John Edwards and bring your sex video tape too. Does it sound like the Wicked Witch of the West running after Dorothy and little Toto? Great, it’s supposed to. Herewith are the makings  of a very dirty, dramatic soap opera filled with love triangles, babies out-of-wedlock, political conniving, incurable diseases and a sex tape…..which are unfortunately and undeniably true. Allegedly.

I have to begin by declaring that I never liked John Edwards. I  got bad vibes from him right from the start. It was something about his slick hair and apple-polished face.  I was never a fan and can’t really say why except for something in the guy turned me off, he had a disingenuous feel about him; I didn’t trust him, nothing more, nothing less.  Later this personal  assessment was proven; this asshole decided to run on the Presidential ticket right about the time that his (as we thought then) precious wife was diagnosed with terminable cancer. Is it fair to judge his political expertise on that? No?  Sorry, I did.  The second he didn’t drop out of the Presidential race because his wife had cancer, he was lost to me. Gone. Done. No Do- overs.   I did not want a man to run this country who wouldn’t want to be with his dying wife.  Priorities. Oh, Poor Elizabeth, I tsked. Poor, poor Elizabeth. I truly felt sorry for this remarkable woman whose personal courage resonated in every part of me.  Until….

I read that Elizabeth Edwards and her dear hubby John, both used her illness as STRATEGY for his campaign.  “Let’s use your cancer diagnosis, we’ll get the sympathy vote.”( I’m paraphrasing.) What the hell? They used the “C” word, cancer,  to work for them in his campaign?   That’s low , in my opinion, not to mention tacky and heartless.   It’s enough that I never liked him but now her too? She was pushing for this strategy?  Oh no, tell me she didn’t!

This might be too much for my sensitive  soul to take. I am running on emotional disgust fumes. Don’t like liars. Don’t like manipulators.  On the other hand, I generally don’t like snitches but actually, in this case, I do. The snitches aka best friend and campaign manager, told the public, the truth. (Do I have to say allegedly again?)

I forgave Bill Clinton, I decided his private life  was his business. I wasn’t thrilled when Monica Lewinsky found foster care in  his office but I did not write him off. After all, that is one  intense family and I know there is more to it than meets the eye.  It was not my business (not that this is) and Bill was in office already when his state of “affairs” become more complicated.

John Edwards is now a new baby daddy.  I can even, somewhat remotely, forgive a mistake BUT NOT  this MANY and not with INTENT and MANIPULATION.   He blamed his “fertility” on his friend and supposedly wanted to dupe the public with a fake diaper DNA test. I don’t even know how you can do that!   Who thought up THIS storyline?

Supposedly,  disgustingly, disturbingly,  John Edwards told his lover that once his wife died they would get married and have their own family and that the Dave Matthews band would play at their wedding. Is that even believable?  Really, you can’t get lower than that. Just hearing that makes me crazy and I can’t get rid of the image in my head and I have tried really hard!

John, you blew it, big time.  Elizabeth, I still feel sorry for you that you have cancer but I would feel that way for anyone struggling with that horrid disease.   I read that when Elizabeth Edwards heard about the love child that Johnny  had with his lover “it made her throw up.” After reading about your escapades and writing about them, I know the feeling all too well. Both of you make me want to throw up.

Pop Cop: Heidi Montag –Repost

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1/24/2010

Heidi WHO?   There has been a lot of media attention about some actress named Heidi and I have no idea why. Her name and tons of photos of her have been shown relentlessly on TV and articles have been written about her in all the gossip rags. Why? Supposedly, this  TV” star”( and I use that term VERY loosely) recently had ten cosmetic surgical procedures done in one day. She’s getting all this media attention for THAT? Now, won’t that certainly assure her of getting her a star on Hollywood Boulevard…..? Not.

Frankly, I don’t give a crap about Heidi Montag and all her surgeries.  The only people who SHOULD be concerned and involved are her mother, husband, best friend and the psychiatrist she apparently really needs to meet.   I could care less whether Heidi Montag or Jane Fame have ten surgeries in a day,  let them have 20 procedures for all I care. Can’t we just keep it under wraps and not give her this shameful publicity?  In my opinion, I think she needs serious psychiatric help instead of  fame.  I read that she was/is on a tv show with some dude, Spencer Pratt. From what I have read, I thinks she is married to him but there’s a bit of controversy regarding that.  Incredible Hall of Fame. Fabulous resume too.

Heidi,  you famous thing. Apparently you are an actress so why don’t we  just put you in the same category of say, the invincible Meryl Streep while we are at it? The difference? Meryl Streep deserves to be famous; Meryl Streep is an unbelievable actress and a true star. A woman I would be honored to meet, an icon.   Heidi -Who, in my opinion should get help for her mind, not her body. Does anyone else hear the word Dysmorphic syndrome?  And, why, why, when girls are just getting exposed (finally) to full-figured models and “real” women are we showcasing this person?  Think, people, think. Do you think it’s a good message?  Right. NO, it isn’t. I’m all for freedom of speech but really?    TMZ,  I actually really like you but come on, even you?

Heidi, and I quote, says that “she feels like plastic”and basically, she is plastic, from top to bottom and ten times over.   She says she is not addicted to plastic surgery, umm, ok if you say so but I beg to differ. If you want to emulate Barbie, fine. Barbie is a GOOD role model compared to you. She has different types of careers and areas of expertise. She can be a veterinarian or a pilot, or a brain surgeon, a mom or an Olympic gold medalist.

Heidi-Who on the other hand? I’ve got it.  She will be a contender for the silver medal in the Nip/Tuck category of the Olympics. For representing a really bad role model to others,  and a disturbing image of herself.

The Methotrexate Blues

Oh me, oh my.  My poor, poor stomach. I am feeling sorry for myself and I don’t care.   I take the drug, methotrexate,  twice a week for Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, an auto immune disease. I hate it. A few hours after I take it (with food, without food,  after food, after a lot of food) my stomach feels like it’s going to explode, and generally, it does. I get cramps, feel horrible, and look worse. I look pasty, have NO energy and have to stay in bed. And I sleep. A lot.  Is it worth it?  I really do not know. That is what I am grappling with today as I lie under my covers feeling cold and weak and on your one to ten stupid scale, Dr. Guru, I am a 2, and that’s rounding up.

Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had in about 18 months. I had energy, I had spirit, I had faith. I went to the grocery store and happily shopped for an hour and a half. I walked, I strolled, I tilted my head to face the warm rays of the sun. I was so happy. So I napped for a couple of hours in the afternoon, I was fine with that!

In the early evening, my husband Dan and I went to my sister’s house for a cozy  dinner with her and her husband. She made tacos, with chicken, cheese, yellow rice, crisp lettuce, red beans…..and we all laughed and chatted amiably and I shared a Diet Coke with her. We sound exactly the same and we usually interrupt or laugh at the same second.  She told me that I “looked really good” and I was absolutely delighted. I felt good, I felt happy and now I am paying a price. A huge, unfair price.

Went to bed at midnight last night and woke up at 12:00pm this afternoon.  Took four of  those horrible tiny yellow pills, the “M” medication and from then on  felt like_ _ _ _. (Fill in the word of your choice). I couldn’t make it out of bed, except to use the bathroom, and I had no energy; believe it or not, I needed a nap during the afternoon.

I’m resentful and disgusted and depressed. I went from such a wonderful day to a pathetic day. I AM thankful for the one wonderful day I had, believe me, but at what cost?  If there was a pattern I could adjust to it but there is none. I don’t have an instruction booklet for my own body and my body has a life of its own.  The only change that could possibly  made in the future is that I inject, yes, you heard correctly, inject the drug directly into my thigh. Hopefully,  this avoids the stomach complications but I haven’t gotten a definitive answer from the Dr. on that.  I’m cranky and frustrated and  the next time I see an orange it will probably be to teach me how to inject myself.  Swell.

Right Or Rude?

I was able to go to the grocery store this morning, the first time in about 18 months, and I was THRILLED. Having been diagnosed with Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, this was the first day that I thought I could not only handle going but enjoy it. I felt good, not too achy and with just enough energy. YEAH for me, road trip!   I know I have simple pleasures; it doesn’t take a lot to make me happy. The sun was shining, it was over forty degrees and, list in hand, I drove to the store singing loudly along with the radio.

Once there, I was thrilled to walk albeit slowly down the aisles, looking at everything. I don’t just follow a grocery store list, I go through each aisle and look at every product. I know this sounds like pure drudgery for most people but I have always liked supermarkets( and if I am in another country I have to go visit their supermarkets) and I always want to buy the new products.

While on-line for the deli section I saw an old friend or actually someone I was friendly with, I will call her S. I was tickled to see S. and gave her a hug; I’ve learned in my 53 years (finally) that there are many different types of friendships. I asked her how she was and she started telling me “how difficult things have been in her life and how much pressure she has been under.”  I nodded my head sympathetically. She then elaborates and tells me that the PROBLEM is that she is remodeling her house (mini-mansion) and her brand new, ( sparkling -my word, not hers) stove did not get delivered on time!! She continues to talk about the remodeling and then switched topics to college and how she and her husband tried to get financial aid for one of their daughters but they have way too much money to qualify for aid. She and her husband are both professional people (okay, doctors) in the medical field and they do NOT have to worry about money. Apparently.

I stood there for a while and she continued to tell me her “troubles.” Finally, in a very nice, even tone of voice, I said the following: “You know, I’m sorry but I just can’t feel that sorry for you. My husband has been out of work for six months and I have been sick for the last two years with an auto-immune disease.” She then asked what auto immune disease I had and how long my husband had been out of work.” I answered her questions and she proceeded to tell me some local gossip.

I then saw another person that we both knew (let’s call her A) and we wished each other a Happy New Year. I said good-bye to them both and moved on to stand in line and pay. Before that, though, I heard  A. ask how S. was doing. At that point, everything changed.   S. said  “I don’t want to complain anymore after what Laurie just told me, I’m fine.”  I smiled at her and she smiled back. “It’s all a matter of perspective” I said gently and then I left the store.

I kept thinking about our conversation as I unloaded the groceries into the car. I was thinking of this family’s reality and mine. I was thinking of people in Haiti and the true problems they have.  I didn’t mention Haiti to my friend but I sure did think about it.

Was I right to have said what I said or was I rude? Or both?

Those 3AM Monsters

I am trying to picture a small, clear glass bowl filled to the top with plump blueberries sprinkled lightly with sugar.  The color, taste and texture of a red-green mango ripened to perfection. I am trying to remember the rare moments in time that life feels perfect. The moon making my bedroom alight as if someone forgot to turn off the downstairs lamp. The first smell of spring after an especially long winter.

When I cannot sleep, like last night between 3am and 6am,  I tried to remember things that make me happy. It doesn’t help me fall asleep but once in a while it fights off the anxiety that lurks in my stomach and slows down the racing of confused mind; I wish I could tell you it worked last night but it didn’t. Nothing did.

Everything seems worse at 3am, doesn’t it? The bed is lumpy and the pillows are too hot, I turn them over and around but nothing works, they are either too plump or not plump enough. Sometimes I take my hand and try to finger the softness of my pink and beige fuzzy blanket, thinking that may calm me down, but no luck.  I reach across the bed to where my husband sleeps and I take my hand and try to wrap it around his arm or lay it on his back; but even that reassurance does not help me chase the terrors away

In the past when I could not sleep I would take my flashlight and sneak down the uneven, noisy, stairs and my dog would follow me. Every time she sees me get up from bed with a flashlight she knows it’s snack time and she joins me; she is my snack buddy. It’s our own little secret and everything I taste, I give her half. A slice of hard salami, a digestive cookie, a slice of sharp orange cheddar cheese, toast with butter. I like our time together, my dog and I. We are both getting older and yet it affects me more to see her almost- white chin, than any wrinkles I may have gathered on my cheeks. I watch my best friend try and jump on my bed and I know it is not as easy as it was when she was much younger. She is turning nine on March 1st and I worry about that too.

Without the sleep I so desperately need everything is dark black and I still feel scared. Breathing exercises don’t work, counting backwards from 5,3066 does not work. I feel frightened and  confused and at 3 in the morning every thought or fear that I have are magnified one hundred percent.  I am anxious, I worry about little things that I need to do, not that they are difficult, just that I have not done them. Everything balloons up with intensity and my body flips from side to side to see if I can find comfort in a different part of the bed, deeper in or throwing off the blankets or taking my night-shirt off.

Children know all about the monsters in the dark. As parents we sweep closets and look under the bed with flashlights and leave a light on in the hall or a nightlight in the corner of a room. We will do anything and everything to make our child feel safe, comforted, cherished and loved. Grown-ups don’t have the privilege of people taking care of us. There is no one to sweep under the beds for us or shout random phrases for the monsters to flee.

We cannot be so easily reassured. We suffer through the hours, the minutes, the seconds, it takes for our brains to slow down; until we are so over- tired that we drift off to sleep without the comfort of knowing it.

Fibromyalgia and Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis #3

My mother wants me to go to another specialist; she doesn’t know what KIND of specialist.  She also thinks I should go to the Mayo Clinic. I don’t know why. What I do know is that I think SHE cannot accept a few limitations that I have even though I can. She says I am too young to feel this way, I am 53. Not 23.  I’m okay with the way I am but she isn’t. I think it’s a mother’s love that prevents her from accepting that I am less than perfect. I, too, would want my child too to be in optimal health but what I have is NOT LIFE-THREATENING and I am grateful for what I do have.

Before the start of my medical cocktails (Synthroid, Cymbalta, Plaquananel, Methotrexate  (and Lecouvirin Calcium to combat the side effects which by the way does NOT work at all) and mega doses of Vitamin D I could barely move, every part of my body ached and I couldn’t get out of my bed.

I still ache, my joints are stiff and I do get tired easily. I’m ok with that. My Guru Dr. said that I would never be a ten out of ten, but he wanted me at an eight or a nine. The best I can do, so far, is a 6. I can live with that. The Guru Dr. wants me to inject a number of drugs (Methotrexate, Enbrel) and I don’t want to. Just reading the side effects of Enbrel makes me nervous; it’s one serious, heavy-duty drug.

I honestly don’t know if I should take the chance and deal with the higher dosage of Methotrexate (self-injected) not to mention even contemplate for a minute the ever so scary sounding Enbrel. I will see my Guru Dr. sometime in March and I will do nothing different until then. Except, I am allowing my mom to come with us to my next appointment so she can hear from the Guru Dr. himself that where I am, is not a terribly bad place to be at all.

I think it all boils down to attitude.

The Word Love

Now that I am old  and very alone I bought one  place setting of  five different sets of china. I  use them as my everyday dishes because there is nothing to wait for at my age of ninety-three. We never had good china when I was younger and so I bought it for myself. To live another day and wake up in the morning is an occassion. I have no rules now, I  sleep all day if I want to, in my  comfortable old bed that has shaped around my body like clay. I have an old, worn blanket that used to be pink but now it is a little pink and a little gray from age.

I stopped looking at clocks because time does not matter now. If I am hungry, I eat. Sometimes I don’t remember if I ate lunch or breakfast. The phone rings and I try to pick it up but the buttons and numbers confuse me. I don’t always like to answer the phone but I do most times. If I don’t answer  it will ring again and again with loud noises that do not stop.

If it is sunny I will sit on my front porch that is painted white. The porch swing barely moves anymore but I like that. Sometimes I sit outside and watch the people on the street. I drink my apple juice there and when the sun hits the glass I can see rainbows sometimes, I always liked rainbows.

The days don’t feel very long at all now. There are days that melt into each other like chocolate pudding. My daughter always liked chocolate the best as did my late husband but I like vanilla. Vanilla is smooth and light and sweet; my son likes vanilla better too. When I was young I used to call myself “The Vanilla Girl.”

I would not say I am a happy person but I am not sad; I am still.  I am like a painting that hangs on the wall.  Life without my husband is not a life that I can get used to. I speak to him all the time and I answer for him too. Many things I say, I say out loud.  Nobody is here to tell me not to.

Today I got dressed and I wore a blouse the color of a rose; it has a few stains on it but I don’t mind. My knarled, old feet are always barefoot and I remember walking on the beach with my family many years ago and how my toes loved the sand. I wear only clothes that are big on me because I never liked things that were tight. Sometimes I wear a nightgown all day long that my great grand-daughter sent me. It is my favorite thing to wear because it has yellow and blue flowers all over it and because it is from her. Who could have imagined me alive long enough that I would be a great grandmother. It isn’t the same since Grandpa passed on.

Nobody seems to understand. When my children visit  they say I should be “happy” and I  try. They don’t know how it feels when they leave. I love the visits from my family once in awhile but I feel the pain of missing Grandpa worse. There is a sharper pain and it takes a long time for it to go away; it is different from the pains and aches that I have all the time.  I get sad and then later on I feel better because I am alone and I don’t have to smile if I don’t want to.

Later I will watch television from my bed. I never turn the television off. I like to have some noise in the background to keep me company. At first the kids didn’t  want me to live here alone but this is my home and so I will die here too;  surrounded by all my photographs.

I will eat something when I want  like cheese and the inside of the bread that I used to call “cotton” when I was a young girl. I will spread that with butter that is not cold or warm but  comes in a tub; I don’t need to have four sticks of hard butter. I haven’t baked banana bread for many years now.

I am not a mean woman but I am not a kind one either. I am really nothing but I was somebody once. I was a wife to my beloved husband and a mother to our two children; we first had a boy and then we had a girl. Everyone used to say “it was the best of both worlds” and yes, that is really what it was. When I go to sleep I will try to remember a memory but they come and go and then I forget what I was thinking about. That is alright, because that is what happens.

When I wake up in the morning, I will say hello to my dogs and they will kiss my face, and I will drink Ovaltine in a my very favorite mug that has hearts and the word LOVE written on it. I will go on with the day again, and I will sit outside with my dogs and just be.

Calling All Girl Scouts

There’s been a buzz around me and thy name is Girl Scout cookies.  I’ve been hearing  people brag about their recently acquired  Girl Scout cookies, describing the gooey caramel, the coconut flakes, the very minty chocolate, and the lush butter of trefoils. I am not feeling good about it. Isn’t girl scout cookie delivery a spring thing? Could it be that in my area, it’s just a later time zone. Could it be that there ARE NO girl scouts in my neighborhood and we won’t have the chance to linger over the cookie list and fight and choose and then buy them all? That doesn’t seem right.

Do I have such a pathetic life that when I googled Girl Scout Cookie I was thrilled to see that they showed,  actually showed this year’s offerings? What kind of nerd am I?? (Sung to the tune of What Kind of Fool Am I?).  I don’t even like some of the cookies to tell you the truth but I like to be asked, thus my philosophy in life. I don’t want to necessarily do something but I would like to be included, even though I may not want to participate. Just a question of good manners, I say.

I may  put in a few calls to the Girl Scout Cookie Hotline or something like it. I know! Facebook for Girl Scout Cookies? Everything  has a page on Facebook, why not cookies?  Knowing Facebook though, they probably already do.  I just want to know that if my family has been overlooked I could piggy back on another person’s order. Is that too much to ask?  I like seeing those cute little girl scouts with their sweet banners and green outfits with those horrible badges I had to clumsily sew ( or illegally glue)  when my daughter was a daisy, brownie  and a girl scout.  She was crushed when in third grade the Scout leaders wanted a break and there would no be Girl Scouts no more. The parents all secretly applauded.

I remember I would have to do special projects with the girls, all the moms took turns. I was a nervous wreck. Seriously, a Bio-Engineering degree would have been easier for me than that. Yes, it is a bit of an exaggeration but I am not an arts and crafts kind of person. I had to beg my friends to help me out.  I would get impatient at the one girl whose sullen face and refusal to participate made me nuts. All the”” pleases, and “thank you’s”, the cajoling and coaxing, would not budge her. If she wasn’t calling her mom every half hour to be picked up because she had some ache or another, she would refuse to participate and disrupt the class. Even though I adore children, I don’t think I would have been a very good elementary school teacher. This girl was sullen and mean and a brat and not nice to the other girls, except one (and she couldn’t get her to participate either) .  Eventually her parents put her in private school and from what I have heard, it worked out well. Being a member of  the Girl Scout troop?  Not quite the team player she should have been.

So, to all the Girl Scout members out there, please come to our house. We would love to buy cookies from you. I know the fights between my children will ensue. My son will buy “his own”, my daughter will  buy “her own”, and my husband and I will just buy a few to be good neighbors. I would be happy to support the  Girl Scouts and participate. Except if THAT one girl comes to my door again, I will steal a line from Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi and say: “No cookies FROM YOU!”

High School, Like Being Pregnant, Only Different

I glowed all through my two pregnancies. I loved being pregnant and felt blessed and  beautiful, healthy and alive and happy. Despite the normal pregnancy disturbances, like peeing every few hours at night, it was a very special time for me.  UNTIL.

Up until the ninth month when I became so uncomfortable and stressed that I couldn’t wait to give birth. It happened with both my children, same time, same bat channel. The angel inside became too big, too frisky and punched like a son of a bitch, incessantly.  I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t walk, I waddled and I couldn’t get comfortable anytime or anywhere. At that point, the little angel you have carried and protected in your womb (whom you have nurtured, sung to, played music for and sang the alphabet song a thousand times)  becomes a devil. The child you wanted to carry forever becomes the baby you can’t wait to give birth to. GET IT OUT OF ME NOW. I’ve had enough.

We have two teenagers in High School, one is a Junior and one is a Sophomore. I often get sad thinking about them leaving home and going to college. It will be “so quiet” I say to my husband as he rolls his eyes upwards. There will be only one year between our son going to college and our daughter. We will be empty nesters and that reminds me of really old people. HOWEVER. In the last six months they have become incredibly obnoxious each in his or her own way. If I start recanting some of the things they do I immediately get angina.  Let’s just say, we are at a point, where we ARE FINE with them to going to college. We might even relish some quiet time instead of all the yelling, arguing, cursing, fighting….that has gone on for years.  IT’S GETTING OLD. FAST. There are certain fights that my son will initiate just to fight. To him, it’s a sport. He will end up yelling up a storm with my husband. To me, he uses curse words that I hate and find incredibly disrespectful. This was the boy I was raising to be a good, solid, young man. You wouldn’t know it from the way he speaks. He apparently hasn’t learned that I am a parent and not his posse of friends that curse together, those macho things. Our daughter, known in the past to, shall we say, interpret the truth differently than we do, provokes her brother, flies under the radar and basically tries to get her older brother in trouble all the time. She often succeeds and while we hear some interesting tales, she will rat him out in a heartbeat if it means saving her own backside.  It may just be her life goal to see how much trouble she can get him into.

So, when the children are packing up their suitcases for college, we will be ready. For a little peace, a little quiet, for doors that are not slammed shut, and rooms that  don’t look like hell holes. Rooms that if, and only if you dare, step inside you are risking your life and your decrepit limbs.

Remember, kids, we love you and will miss you, don ‘t forget to call. Have a safe trip.  Love, Mom and Dad

A Bullet Through Two Hearts

I can almost feel the bullet wound, its intense fire, its lingering pain; orange flames dancing like maniacs with a backdrop of blackness.  Like a ballet of thunder, darkness and electricity gliding on the stage with utter synchronicity, like two dogs fighting or birds flying.  Even though I wasn’t hurt physically it feels like I have been.

When someone tells you what they really, really want? Listen.

My mother encouraged me to go away with my family for the holidays. The fact that I even asked her, shocks most people. That’s what happens when one tries to be courteous and polite. She assured me, again and again that I deserved to go and be with my family after we suffered through two horrible years of sickness, marital discord and unemployment, some of which still exist.

We went away for a few days and had a great time and came back home;  she changed her mind. What?  Disagreements, misunderstandings and fights ensued.  I did not make a mistake to go away with my family; we needed this time together. I just behaved differently than I used to behave and did what I wanted to do for my family.

So, instead of forgetting the past and starting anew, albeit differently, my mother sits at home and, most probably, fumes at me and has been, hurt, sad, angry and disgusted.  We both feel the same way about each other. But, I will not let that stop my life from going on, but for pride’s sake, she is hurting herself.  I won’t forget the things she said to me, but I can forgive and move on. Life is too short to be bitter or resentful. If it’s not working this way, try another. Silence is said to be golden, but it isn’t. More likely, it eats away at you  and makes things worse.

I’ve learned the following things. Don’t say yes if you are not sure. Don’t push your family away because you want them closer. Saying mean things to hurt people on purpose is inexcusable but happens. Forgiveness and compassion are two sentiments that really count.

I continue my days which are usually fine, but at night, before I go to sleep, I feel something unsettling in my stomach, twinges that are like nagging little reminders that something is not quite right.  I know that there are two people who love each other but cannot find their way back to a common ground.

Let things go from your heart, don’t keep grudges and reiterate and retell all your feelings and mistakes. People who love each other will hurt each other sometimes. Stop thinking of all the negative things and embrace compassion and forgiveness.

It will be then and only then, that your heart will begin to heal.