I am fighting.
I am struggling.
I am suffering.
I am doing my best to forget a person.
Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Sometimes in the thick of the day, the rush of the commute, in the ordinariness of my work, the strangeness of the person’s memory comes flooding back in, like a flood that washes away all my defenses, even the strongest I thought I was equipped with, even after a prayer, a rosary; even after a week of progress, it seemed. The person brings back a part of myself that I want to let go of, lights up the still burning candle flame of the person I used be.
If you knew the pain the person brings to me, you would be confused. You would wonder why. You would ask, why this person? And then, you will laugh at my hardheadedness, my foolishness, the imagined-ness of it all.
But I prefer this. And while I still yearn for certainty, I cannot ask for it from anyone else. Why should I, when I have certainty in itself in God?
Every time you do something that comes from your needs for acceptance, affirmation, or affection, and every time you do something that makes these needs grow, you know that you are not with God. These needs will never be satisfied; they will only increase when you yield to them.