You ever do that thing where you have a conversation in your head with someone?
I’m doing it right now and it’s got me so derailed that I can’t focus. I tell my niece all the time that holding onto animosity for someone is like pulling the pin on grenade, not throwing it, and being surprised when it blows your ass up.
Unfortunately, in this instance, me confronting the person that is doing their level best to mentally and emotionally damage someone very near and dear to me would just complicate the situation. I’m having to take a deep breath and step back, which is super hard for me to do.
So, this is me hucking my grenade…
Anger is a living thing. It’s crawling under my skin like a million agitated army ants, hell bent on pulling me apart one mandible-load at a time.
This is what you do to me. THIS is the physical sensation that I get when I think about what you’re doing. I can’t focus. I have typed you a dozen messages only to delete them. I’m the one over here biting my tongue, and all I’m getting is a mouthful of my own blood. This keyboard-borne rant is my attempt at finding some solace for myself, and honestly it is about as effective as a thousand bound lead block would be as a parachute.
I’ve known from the night I met you that you were a broken toy at the absolute best of times. I knew that you were a toxic thing. Like something that glowed in the dark after being exposed to radiation: you were interesting to look at – but time around you would just lead to personal damage on a cellular level.
As bad I knew you would be for me – I knew you’d be absolute devastation to the people around me, and I take full blame for not shoving them away from you – for not throwing myself into your blast radius and shielding them.
You see, the person you’re so hell-bent on terrorizing means the world to me. She’s my blood. Admittedly, she is a little naive to how truly terrible people can be. She trusts everyone. She cares for everyone. She opens herself up to everyone at her own peril. She’s not used to people like you that feed off of that. She’s not accustomed to someone who is fueled by sucking the life out of everyone around them. Someone who is such an empty husk of a human being that the only thing that makes them feel anything resembling happiness is to know that someone, somewhere is as miserable as you are. She has no idea what you are or how to deal with you.
But I do.
I know all too well what it’s like to be a shell of a man, and I know exactly how empty you really are. I know the true nature of people like you. I know how grimy and gritty people can be.
Because I have been you.
You feed your demons and let them run free.
I grabbed my demons by the throat and caged them.
You don’t have the fortitude for that. You don’t have the strength it takes to be a decent human being. It’s easier for you to build yourself up at the expense of others than it is to build yourself up on your own merit. Because you have no merit. You have not a single redeeming quality.
I want so badly to hate you, but in the end, I just feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for your emptiness, because I think deep down in that toxic sludge there is the potential for a decent person. Underneath all that pettiness and angst there is a woman with redeeming qualities. She’s drowning down there in your self-absorption, and before long – she’ll die.
As much as I want you to feel the same kind of pain you cause, I want you to get better. I want you to BE better. I want the world for you because that’s the kind of man I am. I wish no ill will toward you. Ever. The anger I feel is not pointed at you – it’s my own faults trying to bubble their way to the surface.
Me writing this right now is a selfish attempt to vent. Because I can’t tell you to your face how I feel. I’m poring my heart out to a keyboard and just hoping that maybe my blood pressure will go down, and that I can focus on what I need to do. I’m spitting the poison out of my mouth and I’m moving on.
Take that as a lesson.