It's always interesting to look back and see some of the little tidbits of journaling I've thrown in with research. Not always fun. Certainly not. Apparently, on August 13th I declared "Life is shit. It will always be shit," and "never allow hope to fill you because then the shit tastes worse than ever". I may have been a bit dramatic. It's interesting to look back because it makes me wonder what was the cause of my happiness, sadness or anger. Sometimes I'm explicit enough to know what that cause was these ten years later. Sometimes I'm vague and have no idea what caused the rush of emotion. From 2006 - 2008 I can usually assume that any negative emotion was caused by she (or her or D____, or however else I've addressed the cause of my negativity on this blog). Later on in the day I wondered if she, because she was ignoring me for at least four hours was with some guy named Brad.
It's been ten years. The pain is dead. The anger is dead. There isn't really any emotional weight left in the memory. Of course there is probably some scarring and knowing myself, there is definitely some repressed fury buried deep, but it's interesting to see (I use the word interesting because I don't know what else to describe it as) that even ten years ago, before the marriage, before the destruction of the marriage and the crushing of my psyche (I may still be a bit dramatic) I knew something was wrong. I knew there was a Brad. I don't know if she was with Brad on August 13th, 2006. I know she was with Brad. I fretted that I might lose my mind if I found out she was. I found out she was. I found out that Brad was a multiplicity. Not all of them were named Brad.
And there it is. The repressed rage. It feels like the beginning of acid reflux - a tensing in the middle of my chest that will burn up and down until my whole body feels hot. Even as I type this, my body reflexively began to clench my jaw. I was grinding my teeth before I knew how tense my body had suddenly become. The pressure above my temples skyrocketed. But, I remind myself - it's been ten years. The pain is dead. The anger is dead. The rage isn't. It's hiding, but the object of the rage is long gone. I'll push it back into hiding. Deeper this time. One day I'll unleash it. Hopefully, it will be a metaphorical release. Hopefully, it will be directed at she as I create her in writing. Hopefully, I won't sound bitter. Hopefully, I'll be smart enough to channel it comedically so it doesn't sound too mean spirit. Hopefully though, it will be appropriately mean. Hopefully, she will read it.
Going to paint. Hopefully, it will work like some antacid.
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