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When Forgiving is just too Hard

forgiveness womanIt’s funny how things end up how they should be. I’m not sure what to attribute to that fact, but it seems to iron itself out. Whether it’s because we are constantly striving to get our wishes, or our determination out paces the world’s negativity, it seems to work out for the best.

I can, from experience, say that someone telling you in the midst of tragedy that this event happened for a reason is the most annoying sentiment ever. You are having a hard time coping now, much less understanding or contemplating your emotional state in the future. Eventually you grow out of the experience, can look back, and in hopefully a much shorter story than “How I Met Your Mother”, understand how that tragedy, unpleasant experience, or mishap/mistake led to the person or experience that you happen to be enjoying presently.

I guess that leads me to the topic of forgiveness. If, in the end, you still ended up where you ought to be despite someone’s worst intentions, can you still despise them? I have been told time and time again that holding a grudge, or “unforgiving” someone can be unhealthy. And I tell myself over and over just to move on. For the most part I have, but there are times of relapse where the anger still boils up and I am awash with hateful memories of what happened. Can I be just unforgiving enough to forget entirely?

They say with forgiveness comes a lessening of burden, a relaxing of shoulders. I want to forgive, because selfishly I think that I will be able to stop having the occasional bad dream that I’ll be able to seal off that time with complete closure. But I’m not sure wanting is enough. I’m not sure if those reasons are enough. I’m not sure if I’m enough.

Because if I really dig deep into my feelings about that time, about you, I am still incredibly mad. I was misused, abused, lied to, and manipulated. You used my background, my emotionally rocky experience and capitalized on my misfortune. You knew the lure of helping someone with a similar experience would drag me down your path of manipulation. You knew that the goodness in me was something to be battered into submission. How dare you.

For some reason, that’s what makes me the maddest.  Not the lying, about how you felt about me, or any of that – though it was just another step of deception for you. It was how mastermindedly you set me up.

The worst part is that while I have bad dreams inspired by NyQuil, I imagine that you have continued your perfect life littered by the emotional fallouts of all of your dalliances.

At the end of the day, I tell myself it will be easier to consider you sick. You are sick. Not in a tattle-tale name calling scenario, but that you are literally sick in the mind. Your desire to please your senses has clouded your judgment to the point of no return. I don’t think consequences ever cross your mind as long as you get what you want.

I want to forgive you. Because I want to be rid of you. I just wish that were enough.

I hate that amidst my hatred there are still feelings. Because how stupid am I that I would harbor anything other than disgust and contempt? Or nothingness?

I’ll continue on my path to seek forgiveness. I think writing this letter is another stone in the path to less. I fear that I’ll never have this moment of reckoning, this alleviation of fear, fret, and anger. I think that over time, my new memories will replace the old, that my life will be richer with the love and transparency that I have now.

But I think that the forgiveness will be a gradual forgetfulness tinged with better experiences to take your place.

In the end, I am where I should be. There are ups and downs, but I know, that if I can get through you, I can get through anything. Because life, determination, luck, call it what you will, is hopefully on my side and not yours.

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Mom Confessions
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