I used to be so calm, so settled, so forgiving.
I am a flagellant; I must forgive, because I am so guilty. Blame my Catholic roots, my Jewish stepmother, my fractured heart, but understand this: I must forgive.
Hate, anger, and resentment hold me bound. They damage my wings. They make my soul bleed. They are usually unnecessary in creating anything good out of a day.
Yet, here I am. Angry, hurt, scorned.
I am ashamed of this. It goes against my nature. I'm a roll with the punches kind of girl. A natural cheek turner. I pride myself on humility.
But I've been wronged. I've been cheated, and, insult to injury, I protect my attacker like a true victim.
I find it impossible to be honest about these feelings in real life. I can't tell the truth of my pain. Doing so injures me so much more than any wound I've suffered. But I'll tell you the truth. Here. Shhhh. Pretend I never said this, or I'll never trust you again.
I am furious at being betrayed by my closest friend. I struggle to forgive and I don't know why. The whole world knows I've been wronged; I don't need validation in my role as victim.
That's what it is. I resent pity, being made victim. I hate it. It feels like the hardest slap to my ego.
The sooner I really feel this, the sooner I can let it go. I hope.
I had to read Scripture at my dad's wedding this weekend. The passage was about forgiveness. Every word was true. I barely got through it. I cried helplessly when I was done.
I used to be a master at forgiveness. But all my other tests pale in comparison to this one. This betrayal may be the one to break me, may just be bad enough to turn me into something I hate, into someone I can't respect. God help you if it does. I'll never forgive you of that.
