Over the past year and a half, one of the most inevitable steps in my process of healing from a deep wound has become sharing it, right here. Inspired by the previous post I just reblogged, I realize that there is yet another wound in my heart that I pretend doesn’t exist. So today I write to give form, and release, to that wound, to allow it to bleed dry.
Relationships, funny things they are, they bring out the best and the worst in people, and then they often end, leaving us in the afterglow of that best and worst we were.
My last relationship ended over six months ago, it didn’t end too well. I was doing a rather nifty job of moving forward with my life when a couple of days ago something stopped me dead on my track. A friend relayed some nasty comments made about me in regard to my previous relationship by someone of menial importance in my life, and for some reason I could not understand it made me cry.
It didn’t just pass through my head like most irrelevant things do, but it entered and nested itself there to hatch a lot of little baby worries.
I spent hours trying to figure out why such a trivial matter could bludgeon my mind so much and then, amidst all the questioning and soul searching, I placed my finger on the answer.
Now mind you, I have quite a large ego, and for a person like me it isn’t easy to even consider, let alone accept, that I am wrong, so my little epiphany was not quite so little as I say.
I realized that the real reason I couldn’t stop the waterworks since I heard what I did was because deep within me, I knew that there was some amount of truth in some fashion to the statement.
Relationships are the mother ship of the love/hate balance in our lives, and often balances out all you give or don’t give other relations in your life through that one outlet. Sometimes it is love, and sometimes, hate.
I know it sounds funny to say you hate a person who are in a relation with, and maybe it isn’t quite hate, but sometimes you fall into a dissuasive pit of reasons why you shouldn’t be where you are, and yet you cannot climb out of the pit and so you throw out all your fury on the one person next to you in the pit, on the person who brought you there, on the person you can’t live with but cannot leave the pit because of, voila, presenting to you your less than perfect self.
I am not proud of it, but I allowed myself to be a person who simply tortured the living breath out of another human being. I was needy, crass, harsh, manipulative and the worst part, I was still me. I wish that I could say I was another person at the time, but the truth is so much harder than that. I was still me, I still walked like me and talked like me, I had the same friends and the same enemies, I still had the same beliefs and many of the same problems. And I did something wrong. The person I am today has done something wrong. That smarts.
I asked for forgiveness, sure, was Ii forgiven? I don’t know. But the main question is did I forgive myself? And the answer is no.
So today, as I write this, I try to come to terms with all that I did, all the tears and the irrationality, all the stubbornness and the accusations, all the petty destructive words hurled to and fro, all of it. I have no excuse for my less than perfect self, she just was, but today, I am trying to forgive her, and ensure she never, ever, takes away from myself again.