Crossing Lines

My work hasn’t been on par with my own personal set of standards this past week. It’s funny how one little phrase can change your entire outlook if you let it get to you. Today was the first day I felt comfortable talking about it despite the fact that it happened almost a week ago.

This afternoon I wrote something scathing; a rant about what was said that offended me so greatly and on such a personal level that it left me in a state of shock that someone could have sunk so low. It was a thinly veiled reference inside of a snide comment that not only attacked people that I love and care about, but it was accompanied with a sneer you only see on the face of the most violent abusers; the kind of glare that tries to let you know where the power lies. It was said directly in front of someone who should have put a stop to it, but didn’t, and at no point did anyone mentioned in the statement that was made, myself included, deserve it. This wasn’t like having sand kicked in my face; it was like being bludgeoned with a bat and having my wallet stolen.

When I was done writing the four pages explaining why I was so upset I knew I couldn’t post it. It was far too personal and fresh for me to air here. Only four people know the whole story and three were there for it. I intend to keep it that way. It’s not a memory I am trying to repress. I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to forget it, which makes forgiveness impossible. The person who said it sure isn’t sorry about it in any way and probably doesn’t even think it was all that bad. No amount of ranting to anyone will change anything, either.

So if my writing this week is below your usual expectations for me please understand that not only am I super busy every day this week, but my ego and my heart have suffered crushing blows that only therapy and time will heal.

You know who you are, but I am still not entirely sold that you know what you said while you were talking out of your ass from inside your glass house But do know that you have won if it makes you happy to hear that. I’m through fighting with you. I don’t have the time, strength, nor patience to do so. I just hope that some day when you suffer real, true loss that the giant black hole in your chest where your heart should be still has the capacity to feel something, or else it is your loss and not mine.