Drawing Lines in the Sand

I wrote about this the other day in a different site, and hopefully this will last a little longer than my usual turn-a-page-and-start-again scheme.  In no small part, one of the things bothering me is that in a few days, my PFA against my ex-ex, Joni, is over.  I'm hoping she is finally done with me and I won't be hearing from her any more, but now I have no idea what to expect. 

And meanwhile, a few weeks ago, I had to put the PFA threat against Leah. 

I've seen a lot of women over the years: some as lover and some as friend/confidant.  I've touched a lot of lives, and in the end I have some dear friends out of the deal.  But I've had a lot more hurt.  And there are some out there for whom I still hold out some hope.  Hope that they will show me that they are worth some place in my heart.  Many of these people do not deserve it. 

A while ago, I got over my hope that Joni would come to me one day and say that she has gone through years of therapy and is sorry for how horribly she treated me.  I had it hammered into my head that this would not happen, and that even harboring that hope somewhere in my mind gave her something she could hook into.  I needed to do more of that. 

Leah will never come to me and apologize for how she acted.  I'll go further: she will never be held accountable for how she acted.  She is making up stories about me and telling these stories freely.  She is surrounded by people that shake their heads and say "wow, how terrible!"  And there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop that.  Leah is a horrible person and she is gone from my life, and if there was a part of my mind that hoped that something good could come from that ordeal I endured with her . . . it's time to stop. 

And one other friend: it's been clear to me for a couple of years that she has been treating me like crap.  In her case, cutting her out of my life means losing something very precious to me.  But that's just the way it is.

These are hooks in me, places where horrible people could hold on with their claws even if they don't know they are.  It's one thing to remember them, it's one thing to tell stories about them, it's another thing to live in those memories.  And it's time that stopped.  Stories should be just stories.