I’m angry. I admit, I’m an angry soul. I’m sitting here on a sofa, at the end of a beautiful day full of family, friends and laughter. And I don’t get like this very often; I’m usually a happy person. But even though I don’t get like this very often, here I am. I sometimes do get like this.
Not as passionately as I had when I lost you. No, that was a different kind of angry. It was raw and unimaginable, it was a hollow cave and no light at the end. I’m crying lightly, not because I miss you or want you back. I don’t. I want you to stay as far away from me as possible.
I’m crying because I’m angry. And I used not to be an angry person, but now I am. I’m here, angry for no reason. There is a reason, actually. I’m angry because of you. I’m angry because no matter what I’ll do, I’ll never be able to erase what you did to me.
Not the memory of it, the memory of it I can throw into the deepest abyss. Not the memory of you, the memory of you I can burn and blow away in the wind, just like you told me to. Not the pain, the ache – the ghost of those days. Those I can let go. But even as I let go of these things, of the past, of you – even as I let go, I can feel it inside. The trace of those days. The brokenness that cannot be unbroken.
I can feel myself a changed person, not aching but bearing the scars of what you’ve done to me. I can feel myself changed, and I don’t want to be changed. I don’t want to be changed by you, but here am I – changed.
And then there is the helplessness of not being able to unchange it. I can heal, I can forgive, I can love myself ever more and I can love others ever more. But I used to be a dreamer, an idealist, a romantic, and restless soul. Now I’m none of these things and I’m tired, battered. And I can’t change it.