(Warning: a lot of “projecting” in this one. That’s using “therapy-speak.”)
I know there are two sides to every story and between those two sides there might be the truth. I know that. I’m still angry. And it is so hard to rein it in and not do anything on impulse because that doesn’t do anything constructive.
I may not remember what I might have said or done at that party, but I do know what I’ve been thinking and feeling and experiencing over the past year that I couldn’t talk to them about. And there were unresolved issues on BOTH sides. BOTH. They are every bit as guilty as I am for not communicating those things and trying to resolve them. This one incident was not the destruction of the whole.
I keep being told by mutual friends to, “Move on,” “Let it go,” etc. Oh, I’d love to. I’d fucking love to. How nice it must be to type trite bullshit at me while I’m sitting here completely lost and in pain. Some people might be able to switch themselves off and on but I’m not one of them. And I can’t help but wonder what’s being said behind my back. Sure, everyone else can get the other side of the story but not me. I’m not worthy of that, apparently. I’m just a monster. And a crazy bitch that must cry tears of acid, who doesn’t have a heart. And I expect others to be “so fucking perfect.” They’re being listened to and comforted, I’m sure. It would have been really fucking nice to know what I DO need to take responsibility for, though. As far as they’re concerned, I did actually die. They can communicate with others but not with me. They knew ignoring me would hurt me more than anything else so that’s what they did.
Guess what?! If we had actually attempted real conversation WITH EACH OTHER this might not have happened.
This anger will pass, I know. I’m just trying to not do anything self-destructive in the meantime.