Yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk. I washed and cleaned out my car yesterday; I opened the trunk took a gander and shut it without removing a single item. In the back there is a Valentine’s Day card from my ex-husband, Marco. It is dated 2011. I read it. He sent it to me 3 years ago from rehab. It was filled with empty and temporary heartfelt promises. He wrote of his love for me because I stood by his side for so many years. Obligation. I am not interested in anyone’s obligation to me nor my obligations to anyone. If I do something for someone it is because I want to and not out of sense of duty. It is not coincidental that the word obligation is a synonym to the word burden. At some point in our marriage burdens were popping up like acne.

Yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk. I felt nothing as I read every dated word. Nothing. There is no residue that Marco left behind. I have no contempt or resentment for him. I truly understand the nature of alcoholism, as best as a non-alcoholic can. I read the books; I get it. Every word said is meant wholeheartedly in the moment in which it was stated. And that is all. The moment only. Only. Words are empty, and yet I hung onto them like an addict myself. The next card, the next poem, the next promise, the next sweet text, the next, the next, always the next, never the now. I found a sick fulfillment in vacant words. They propelled me through an evening, a day, or a week. I thrived upon them, and quickly they appeared when my heart was broken.

Yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk. And it is MY junk. I have no blame to lay. I have no names to curse. I have no god to blaspheme. My junk is with me. I do not blame, curse, or blaspheme myself, but I am wise enough to realize that until I look at me, my part, and my hand, I will never heal. I disappointed myself. I would lie awake in the dark of the night wondering how and when I would make an exit. And I woke everyday with a renewed sense of false hope. Everyday was a Resurrection and a Last Judgment, torturous when you are not being true to yourself. My love for Marco overshadowed my wants and desires. Obligation. When I point a finger, it is at myself, painful but necessary.

Yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk. When I was preparing to go on a date a while back, my friend told me to take a tiny purse. Evidently purse size is indicative of emotional baggage and a turn off to guys. I can see how that translates, but the truth is, I may always have baggage. But I do not carry the cloak of victim hood. I do not carry the cloak of freak circumstance. I take full responsibility for my decisions and choices, even when I felt my inner voice was stifled.

Yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk. Somehow, I managed to get a guy to fall in love with me in a matter of days. I sent no signals, gave off no sexual energy. He is a great guy and perhaps the most sincere person I have met outside of my close circle of friends and family. I could easily be his “one.” And yet, I am not ready. I enjoy living alone and having no expectations put upon me. I need to deal with the myriad of ways that I have let myself down before I can have a real connection with a partner, or maybe I just wasn’t interested.

Truly, it is not junk hidden in the back of a car or baggage in an over sized purse if I am working it out. I am content and peaceful with my process of facing reality, and what more could I ask for? Until I clean it all out, yes, I am the girl with junk in her trunk.