Jan 252012
 

I was wrong.

I called it in sadness and anger, in immaturity, and in an overabundance of emotion. Catharsis? Perhaps I experienced it, but I’m sorry that you had to play a part. I’m sorry that I had to manage those feelings at your expense. Some part of me wishes you understood this was characteristic of me — passionate, instinctive, and explosive (don’t you know me?). Although my history doesn’t excuse my actions, I hope it goes some distance to explain them.

I was hurt you wouldn’t take my side in a matter I so clearly owned, embodied, lived. Your want for rationality, for seeing both sides of an issue — it’s noble, but hurtful sometimes.

I don’t apologize for my emotion — I don’t apologize for any words but these: “I’m done.” I apologize for those words alone — and for their symbolic action. Fuck symbolic action. Why weren’t any of my other words symbolic action? Why is it only those that count?

I was in a spot, you know? A fevered, sad state, impassioned futile tilting of windmills. I never expected you to help me tilt, but I didn’t expect you to hold me back. After all, this isn’t your windmill.

It’s not your boulder. I’m happy to push alone — I didn’t want a helping hand, nor loving arms to catch me when I hit bottom. I’ve been at bottom before — I can administer self-care well enough. I just didn’t expect someone who loved me to hold me back, talk me out of it, explain away so many irrationalities and futilities I already understand. I know this boulder — he and I are old friends. I recognize him, even in disguise.

This isn’t your pain displacement mechanism — to deal with what you aren’t quite ready to share (understandably so, all things considered, can you blame me?). It’s mine. You know this — please know this. And what does it cost you to take my side, especially when taking my side requires no action, no stance, and no real understanding?

I keep thinking you’ll call and ask me to forgive you for your part… and ask me to reconsider.

You haven’t, so I will. Please forgive me for my part… and please reconsider.

I love you more than pride, more than dominance, more than fleeting happiness. I love you more than rules or roles or my aversion to embarrassment. I love you more than steak and whiskey and winning dominoes and Scrabble. I love you more than I love myself.

Please reconsider.

  One Response to “reconsider”

  1. Oh. This hurts my heart a little. Sending big fat reconsideration vibes out into the ether.

    I have everything crossed. Also, virtual hugs and recommendations for more whiskey.

    Ferns

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