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Monday, December 15, 2008


I've avoided it for a very long time. But no matter how I run from it, I can see the blackness dogging my heels. It comes only as close as I allow.

I'm afraid if I look at it I'll be consumed; the beautiful parts of Samantha will become bruised and broken, and finally evaporate. I'm afraid the bitterness is the largest part of who I really am, always there regardless of how I ignore it.

This acrimony colors my sense of humor, grants me self-disparagement, and currently binds my tongue. I know what I want. I want to rage and scream--but not just that--I want someone to hear my ranting; I want to direct most of it at whomever listens. I want to kick and cry and beat someone's chest with my fists. And when I am finished I want that same person to hold me, forgive me, tell me everything will be all right. And the irony is, I am no respecter of persons. I simply want someone human to see the monster devouring me, allow me to express, and stay.

All my life I have refused to allow myself to admit I felt this. I thought, in time, the resentment would dissipate and eventually disappear. It didn't.

And now...what?

I told a young friend last week that a physician cannot care for a wound at which he or she is afraid to look. I challenged him to look--not to qualify in any way--simply to look at the things he has been avoiding. And I, in my hypocrisy, cannot seem to take my own challenge. As I try to look, my nights are consumed with terrible memories and dreams. I cannot sleep. My days pause for a flashback from which I spend hours recovering. My subconscious punishes me as I allow myself to feel the rancor I can no longer ignore.

...'Tis the season to be jolly...God help me...

1 comment:

  1. I was dealing with brother issues once. I never thought I was angry with anyone. Then I started having dreams about beating him senseless with a bat. It felt good to dream that. I found myself daydreaming about it for hours. That same anger has become part of me, or it has come out of its repression. That sucks, but the tragedy is that it doesn't affect my brother, it affects my family. That isn't right at so many levels.

    I'm sorry that you feel like this. I think you're great. Even when it’s apparent that you’re not on top of your game, I appreciate and love the honesty of your emotions.