Taking The High Road While Crawling On Bruised Knees

     I’ve been absent from blogging the last few days because I had to go in for a dental procedure, and well…the remainder of the week has pretty much been a blur since. They did a root planing on one side of the ‘grill’ last week, and finished up on the other side Thursday. Not so much fun, but at least my dentist is a good guy who accommodates me in my fears, and gets me looped-up on Halcion beforehand. This is less fun for my husband than I, because he’s the one that has to tote me out to the truck after I’m three-sheets-to-the-wind on meds, and have spent an hour-plus under the mask. The bright side for him is, I don’t talk much on the way home. After, I pretty much just want to crawl into bed and doze the remainder of the evening till all the effects have worn off.

     I admit I’m a huge baby when it comes to the dentist. So much so, that I believe I would rather go through childbirth again if given the alternative. This truly is not a joke! I have given birth three times with nothing more than a local to deaden ‘the spot’, and yet I have to be almost comatose just to get through the first shot in a dentist’s chair. Crazy shit, huh? Yeah, spiders and dentist’s; the two run a close race in the ‘fear’ factor where I’m concerned.

     This little, dental diversion probably wouldn’t be such a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that these procedures totally throw me out of whack with my meds. My doc doesn’t want me mixing anti-depressants with the ‘relaxants’ and painkillers the dentist prescribed, so I have to go off my meds a couple days prior then resume taking them again a couple days after. I’ve had to do that twice in the last two weeks, and let’s just say I’m a bit off-kilter because of it. To be honest, any little upset right now would throw me off, so this one is like making me walk a tight-rope. Which is probably why I reacted the way I did to my daughter’s phone call Friday.

     I think I’ve been doing a pretty good job of dealing with the shit since it was dumped on me last month. I chose to take the high road and made the decision that the best and only way to deal with it, was not to. I’ve tried to be like the little monkeys that hear, speak, and see no evil. Other than sharing my feelings on the subject occasionally with my best friend, I’ve become close-lipped about it. If I don’t talk about it, then no one will know. If no one knows, then no one will bring it up to me. If they don’t bring it up to me then I don’t have to deal with it. If I don’t have to deal with it then it’s not ‘real’. Hey, it worked for a while.

     My daughter brought it up. Apparently, even though I’m remaining close-lipped on the subject, others are not, and this tidbit of information found its way to her ears. Her reaction was to be expected; after all, she knew he’d been the love of my life, and it doesn’t take too much stretch of the imagination to figure out what his intimate relationship with a close member of my family now was doing to me. It probably wasn’t the wisest decision she could make where I was concerned, because all she did was open a Pandora’s box. The high road went south, weeks of ignoring the pain and suppressing my feelings broke the dam on my silence, and when it was over I’m pretty sure she wished she’d never dialed my number. Ah, well…in the end it wasn’t nothing that a couple/few hours on the phone with Pandora Patty and a half a bottle of vodka (Bloody Mary’s) wouldn’t fix. I wasn’t in pain anymore, anyway. Yesterday I had a hangover that hung-on, but at least it got me over the initial ‘hump’.

     I don’t hate people. That’s not something that comes easily for me; possibly because of my belief in God and the disdain that I know He has for it. Even after years of emotional and physical abuse at the hands of my first husband I still cannot say that I hate him, though I believe that my feelings would be more than justified if I did. That being said, I find it difficult now to admit that I have feelings of hatred for someone, but I do. I hate her. I hate her because I begged her not to become involved with him, she promised this was a pain she would never inflict upon me, and yet did it anyway. I hate her, because she has milked others for sympathy by pretending to be remorseful, thereby making herself out to be the victim…when I am the one she hurt and should be crying out for allies, yet I’m not. I hate her, because it wasn’t enough that she has everything going for her: The great career, the beautiful home, and the freedom to make her own choices—things I lack, and sorely want—she still had to go and take this away from me…the memory I had of loving him. This was all I had left after it ended. Although I knew we could never make it work, I was able to end it while I still loved him in order to keep his memory sacred.  This memory I now can no longer stomach. The mere thought of him creates pictures in my head of the two of them together, and bites at the back of my throat like vomit. I can’t hate him though. No, there’s only enough room in my blackened heart for one. He is of no consequence to me anymore. It stopped being about him, when it became about her.

     I’ve asked God to forgive me because of this hatred, but can’t bring myself to ask Him to help me forgive.  I owe her nothing; let alone forgiveness. I know I probably bring a curse upon myself in thinking the things I do…that which I dare not speak aloud. For now I’m willing to live with this. Hating her comforts me. My only wish is that another visits upon her the pain she’s caused me; and only someone she loves and trusts completely—as I did her—is worthy to do so. I believe someone will. Meanwhile, I’ll bide my time; knowing we live in a just world where all acts are repaid accordingly, no matter how we may try to convince ourselves otherwise. Loving him alone eventually proves to be a cupful of sorrow. It is, however, the kind that unfortunately leaves you thirsting for more. This she’ll soon learn. This, in itself, is somewhat of recompense to me. Tomorrow is another day.

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