i forgive you, for what you did. it never was a question of forgiveness, on my part. just anguish, dark and lonely anguish that your betrayal sent me plunging into -- head first. i understood, you know. i understood why you did those things to me. you were 19 or 20. how old was i? i think, 10 or 12. my recollection of these times in my life - fragmented. i remember being in grade 6, then grade 7, then grade 8. and i remember that i understood.
sitting in the back seat of the car, listening to the adults talk about themselves and their relationships. that's when it became clear to me ... she ... your wife ... spoke of not satisfying you ... sexually. you know, that stupid mind-fucking game wives play with their husbands, involving deprival of sex at a whim? and, so, i rationalized, you had to get fulfilment somewhere. and that somewhere happened to be me. and ... i understood.
and, so, on those late nite drives - you driving me home after an evening of babysitting your daughter - thru the dark, deserted residential streets, you took what wasn't yours to take. did you think it was okay to take what wasn't yours if no one saw you taking it? did you think maybe i would forget ... that i wouldn't notice anything went missing?
well. i want you to know that it wasn't okay, that i did notice, even though no one else seemed to notice. and that your denials did not change the unchangeable reality. how many others, like me, were there? i wonder, do they remember the sour scent of your breath? the pastey, greasy feeling of your hair and skin? and do they have the same fear of men with grimy hands and dirt under their fingernails? and ... i also wonder ... how do you live with yourself?
i want you to know that ... what you took - my innocence, trust, self - you also took from every man i have ever loved. or tried to love. years after your betrayal, the ugly, repulsive and horrific betrayal ... you continue to take these things. and those, who never even knew you, have suffered the cold and icey fallout ... my cold and icey fallout.
and you ...? what have you suffered? oh ... why should i care? i don't really. i don't. i just want you to know that i remember ... forgive even ... but i can never, never forget. that's what i want you to know.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
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This means challenging my self to compassionate, encouraging, genuine and hostile-free exchanges. It also means contemplating my reaction to the thoughts, feelings and expressions of others, prior to acting upon them. 
9 comments:
This is really painful to read, let alone go through for the rest of your life. The soul has been damaged, not beyond repair but beyond simple understanding. Within, is the way to better life. This is what I do.
If it hurts really bad, I'll embrace it until I can no more, then I let it go, but I don't go looking for it. If it comes back, I don't get tough, I give into it and it does wash away but I must let the salt roll down my cheeks without wiping them. If I have someone by my side, I will laugh, if I am alone, I will feel better. Release is what works, so I understand why you write.
so much pain, dear malva, and so much courage, too. that's what i hear, in post after post. i hope you allow yourself to recognize it...
thank you, Q. so much ...
not getting tough - that is the hard part, i think ... but there is something to just surrendering and feeling that salty feeling. and yes -- this is why i write.
you help to heal by reading ... thanx
=^)
dear wch:
thank you ... pain and courage, one washes the others - tho sometimes i am not sure which.
thanx for helping me see ...
=^)
write it all...write it all out!...
dear prism, that's what i'm doing ... writing it all out ...thanx for reading
Hey,
I feel you. And you know what I have determined? Those older men wanted (want) something from us:
The sparkle in our eye, and the innocence maybe, but the wonder and joy of youth, yes. They wanted out joy.
If we rise above, and look with a birds eye view at the situation, taking into account all angles of it, it gets eaiser to see how it happens.
Like your observance of the wife playing games. I also observe the men sorrowful in their youth gone by, who want to capture it again somehow. They want to suck it out of us (as youngsters).
We can generate it ourselves I have realized; the youth and the joy. That is a major gift in this world Babe, we are steam engines of joy. We generate happiness. We are artists.
Indigo purpose? maybe, but we cannot get "tough" you are right. But we need to lean on each other.
I am here for ya, and I am glad we found each other!
Your friend-
-sunset pink-
hey --- infini -- thanx soo much. i'm glad i found you, too. i will add you to my YIM friend's list ...
=^)
Wow. That just brought back a very, very old memory. Not for the first time, though, and probably not for the last. But this time, I can feel it wanting to come out. A future post in the brewer. Thanks. And I actually really mean that, and not facetiously. Sometimes things just have to come out, you know?
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