So you can ask me how I feel. Almost a whole year later.
I look back at the mess with Francis and I think—almost my head in my hands. What have I done?
Perhaps, I was so emotionally vulnerable that I latched onto what seemed like a savior. And with it, I let myself stay deluded. I didn\’t know any better. And yet did he? But I know that the steam fully fills the streams in my belly. And it rises up, wanting to hurt, curse those who offended it.
I am anguished of course. Yet terrified of what will happen when I do encounter him. I know this though, I always will acknowledge him. It\’s a principal that I will take. But then I think of last year and I can feel the terror, the unhappiness nearly strip me bare. Were you happy then? I want to ask myself and can I truly say yes? Or were my blind eyes so broken under scars that I only knew how to say yes when those eyes knew the word no?
I think of how fragile I was. And how I wanted to be something more. And how the inability to express my frustration and disappointment came out as neediness and despair. I saw abandonment in everything and I hated how he refused to let go. And the cycle repeated itself again and again. Until I couldn\’t bear it anymore and I said bluntly what I hated and hated. And it came up as relief almost, but I knew that I did something bad. That the pain I caused wasn\’t warranted and that well, oh no, it happened again. And the relief was only replaced with guilt because that\’s the easiest feeling to come up. And I wallow in that guilt…wondering if there is such a thing as karma and will it bite me? But guilt goes away, but never completely.
And in some moments, I think. Well he certainly deserved it. But then there are the very few moments that I have short spurts of empathy and think, did he deserve better treatment? And then I think, how could I have done any better? Especially when my feelings were so hurt and pained. I carry this large rock of shame, guilt, pain and I hate carrying it. I really do hate carrying it, because my shoulders are worn from the fraying rope, digging red welts, red current across my soft screen that rarely ever sees work. It strains as the rock is pulled and my body says…let\’s cut it. Let\’s cut it now. But no, my self is so determined. Because I believe when I say that I will do it, I will do it.