Posted By Goddess on July 25, 2008

It’s not like I don’t make my feelings wide known.

You know me, don’t you?  I thought you did.  Really, I thought you did.  But considering the way you did it, just like it was going to the grocery store or something, without telling me, how did you expect me to feel?

I have come so far and climbed out of that quagmire.  I’m out of the dregs of the bottom of the barrel. For so many years I worked on it, and right now I feel like you pushed me back in.  Not really on purpose exactly, but like I was was standing near the edge looking down at what I used to be and you accidentally knocked into me causing me to fall back into it.  It’s much easier and quicker for me to climb out of that pit these days, but it’s still there you know.  It always will be.  I am human and you were thoughtless.  It was a thoughtless thing to do.  I didn’t appreciate it and I’m upset.  I have to absorb it.  I have to absorb the vibrations into my bones a bit and then figure out how I feel.

You of all people.  You.  I don’t understand how you could just say it like that, like it was no big deal.  You either gave me too much credit or you simply were being thoughtless, or avoiding it.  Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission on this instance? 

I can’t sleep now. 

I don’t make a habit of rubbing mistakes in.  It’s odd because when somebody who loves me hurts me I feel bad for them usually.  I feel bad that I know they feel bad.  But not this time.  So often I just don’t want to make anybody feel worse, but you know what, I can’t always be so brave and forgiving at a moment’s notice.  Maybe you are that good and kind, but I guess I’m not. 

What you did - it’s like when they weigh me at the doctors office and the nurse accidentally tells me my weight.  I weigh backwards so I don’t see the weight because if I know what it is it can trigger obsessiveness about my weight.  Yes, I’m mostly over all of the things that used to beat me down every day.  I don’t weigh myself.  I don’t keep food journals and count calories and measure my waist all the time.  I don’t binge and purge and starve and obsessively exercise like I used to…most of the time.  But once a year when some nurse doesn’t pay attention and tells me my weight, it puts me back in that hole for the afternoon.  Maybe even a couple of days.  The number taunts me and makes me feel inferior.  The old thinking kicks in and I have to battle it.

Thank you because I am now sitting here, surfing the net, tormenting myself looking for where it was, what it was, how it was and why.  Self injury doesn’t come up often.  Not the physical kind, not the cutting kind - the kind that leaves little slices on my soul.  I’m in that type of place at this moment.  Fighting tears and obssesive thoughts and comparisons and images conjured by my fertile imagination.

It wasn’t so much where, it was how and when.  And the not knowing.  The blithe “I didn’t think it would bother you.”  Have you been paying attention?  Do you know how hard it is to get out of that hole in the first place not to have somebody just accidentally knock you back into it?

I guess it’s nice that one of us is getting sleep right now. 

I know you’re sorry, but I have to work on getting past it regardless of apologies.  It’s done.  You can’t turn the clock back.  I’m hurt and angry and frankly, after two hours I’m actually more angry.  Hopefully I will have climbed out or half way up from this pit by day break, but I wouldn’t hold your breath if I were you. 

Then of course my other neurotic tendencies - to worry that being angry will mean this is the last thing I write about you because something terrible will happen.  Like I’m living in some movie scripted for maximum convenient dramatic effect. 

“And her words poured out.  She blogged to rid herself of the anger and resentment that she’s worked so hard to exorcise these many years.  It was theraputic for her.  Little did she know that it would be the last thing she would write about him while he walked with the living.  Had she known that he was to die that night, she would have found a way to let it go, and tell him she loved him and bid him a sweet goodnight wrapped in her warm forgiveness.”

Sigh.  Dramatic much?

I suppose I should do something productive, but what can you do productive at 1:18 am? 

Categories: A Moment in My Life
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