Forgiveness is the act of releasing or letting go of what you hold against someone. It reminds me of the anime Cardcaptor Sakura, when Sakura chants a spell, swings her wand forward, and shouts "Release," and the Clow Card would become effective in its natural state of power. I guess. So here I am, ready to exorcise you from my scarred soul into your natural state.
I forgive you for how you laughed at me at the wrong times: when you hit my head hard with that golf club, accidentally, when I fell down the stairs chasing after you, and when you again, accidentally, closed the car door while I was getting out behind you. That really hurt, by the way.
I forgive you for locking me out of the apartment because you just felt like it, and how you chased me in the room with a belt when I refused to obey you. I was so scared of you that time that I took hours staying in the bathroom. I forgive you for refusing to give me my allowance and having me starve. I was really angry and mad at that. I hated you for that.
I forgive you for using me as an experiment in your sadistic games. For when you nightly pricked my finger with a blood sugar testing kit because you thought it was fun. It was probably for you, but you made me cry myself to sleep every night. And that time you deliberately electrocuted me when I said no. That really wasn't funny.
I forgive you for gambling away the Ipod I gave you. Again, that stung. I felt like you didn't really care about me, that I was disposable to you. I forgive you for always asking me to buy you stuff, and you conveniently never asking me back what I wanted. It's not that a big of a deal, but I know you're a nice guy, maybe not just to me.
I forgive you for when you forgot that you have a temper and had me on the receiving end even when none of it was my fault. I forgive you for never apologizing on your own, you always had to be prodded by Mama and Papa. I forgive you for breaking my heart. I forgive you for being such a sucky big brother. I forgive you for even having me do this, for making me hate you unwittingly. I forgive you for making me hate guys, I just looked up to you for so long and then realized you didn't love me.
I really hated you, do you know that? You made my childhood miserable. You made me feel so small, defenseless, and you laughed instead of apologizing. I don't care that Mama likes you more, I understand that, but I dislike the fact that you got away on tormenting me. Disillusionment sucks so much.
I'm sorry if I became the baby in the family, I know you liked that spot. But you see, you're our only favorite brother, that's your role. I'm sorry if I screamed at you when you teased me many times before. Believe me, you're the only one who riles me to the point of anger management mandate. I'm sorry if I made fun of you unknowingly, or when I hurt your feelings. I'm sorry if I cramped your style, when you had to go with me when you wanted to go with your friends. I'm sorry for only having time for good times and forgetting to ask you how you were, we don't really know each other.
I'm sorry for clinging to you like a leech, I wanted a friend because I was alone. Maybe you needed a friend too, but I was so busy being selfish. I'm sorry for not being a good younger sister, I know I can be a pain. I'm sorry for the times I wasn't there for you, I'm here if you need someone. And I'm sorry for not loving you as I should. I do love you, I just forgot underneath all my hatred. You're still my favorite brother.
February 09, 2009
A Break From the Pity Party
My pity party is finally in conclusion. After weeks of tears, hair pulling, and sequestering myself in my room, I am now salvaging my pride and resurfacing as a human being. Maybe I should leave it at this. I should just exercise my facial muscles and smile again. But I need to write or I'll forever hold it and drag it with me to my last breath.
Ah, drama, how you fill my life with angst and profound melancholic monologues. I went to church yesterday with my Dad. I didn't want to since I had cramps and all that lovely time of the month joys of being a woman. But I knew he would be disappointed and I would feel guilty, so there we were. The guest preacher was funny, self-deprecating, and honestly confessed to a family case of inherited depression and self-medication. My kind of person. His message was aptly entitled "I Am Not A Victim." Huh. And there I was enraptured as he talked of his granddaughter's weepy soccer game, Jesus' miserable time on earth, his mom's seemingly pointless death, a parents' brutally murdered son, the elevator of choice: up for heaven and down for hell, and of why God doesn't answer our most esoteric question: Why?
"Because He's God, and He's right, and you don't get to ask that question." He was kidding, of course, but yeah, it feels that way sometimes. When my uncle passed away, I asked God why; Why did He allow my uncle to die when He could just have healed him? So I was angry and hurt, and it hurt more that I was angry at God when I've loved Him since I've known Him. Add to the fact that I was stressed out over my classes, and being bombarded by blasphemous statements by my World Religions professor, having no time to clean the house, piling papers needed to be started, and having someone tailgate me to the point of hitting my car's rear end. Ah, hell. Wonderful.
I used to think that asking God why would result in being struck by lightning and damnation to a voidless, dark, pit. But I learned recently that if you're honest with God, He'll be equally honest with you. It didn't matter what God's answer was, in hindsight, I just wanted the assurance that He would answer. The preacher said that asking God why should not were we should exert our effort, but in searching for God's plan for us. Pain happens, and you could either choose being a victim, or believing that God has a plan. Jesus suffered on earth too, but have you ever felt that he was a victim in all that you've read of him? I'm sure he didn't enjoy some or most of the experiences he's had on earth, similarly, we don't either.
Sometimes life is hell. But hell, as I learned yesterday, is just the absence of God. When we choose to be victims, we take God out of the equation and instead believe that life is just random and out of control. I don't want to be a victim, I want God there with me. As my Patho prof says, "there are no victims, only volunteers." I certainly don't want to volunteer for hell. So I'll start by pressing the Up button; it's tempting to stay wallowing in hell but no thanks.
Ah, drama, how you fill my life with angst and profound melancholic monologues. I went to church yesterday with my Dad. I didn't want to since I had cramps and all that lovely time of the month joys of being a woman. But I knew he would be disappointed and I would feel guilty, so there we were. The guest preacher was funny, self-deprecating, and honestly confessed to a family case of inherited depression and self-medication. My kind of person. His message was aptly entitled "I Am Not A Victim." Huh. And there I was enraptured as he talked of his granddaughter's weepy soccer game, Jesus' miserable time on earth, his mom's seemingly pointless death, a parents' brutally murdered son, the elevator of choice: up for heaven and down for hell, and of why God doesn't answer our most esoteric question: Why?
"Because He's God, and He's right, and you don't get to ask that question." He was kidding, of course, but yeah, it feels that way sometimes. When my uncle passed away, I asked God why; Why did He allow my uncle to die when He could just have healed him? So I was angry and hurt, and it hurt more that I was angry at God when I've loved Him since I've known Him. Add to the fact that I was stressed out over my classes, and being bombarded by blasphemous statements by my World Religions professor, having no time to clean the house, piling papers needed to be started, and having someone tailgate me to the point of hitting my car's rear end. Ah, hell. Wonderful.
I used to think that asking God why would result in being struck by lightning and damnation to a voidless, dark, pit. But I learned recently that if you're honest with God, He'll be equally honest with you. It didn't matter what God's answer was, in hindsight, I just wanted the assurance that He would answer. The preacher said that asking God why should not were we should exert our effort, but in searching for God's plan for us. Pain happens, and you could either choose being a victim, or believing that God has a plan. Jesus suffered on earth too, but have you ever felt that he was a victim in all that you've read of him? I'm sure he didn't enjoy some or most of the experiences he's had on earth, similarly, we don't either.
Sometimes life is hell. But hell, as I learned yesterday, is just the absence of God. When we choose to be victims, we take God out of the equation and instead believe that life is just random and out of control. I don't want to be a victim, I want God there with me. As my Patho prof says, "there are no victims, only volunteers." I certainly don't want to volunteer for hell. So I'll start by pressing the Up button; it's tempting to stay wallowing in hell but no thanks.
February 01, 2009
At a loss.
I can't believe we lost. After we finally caught a lead and a break, the Steelers caught up. And they caught up big time. I'm sobbing. A four point difference. This sucks. I can't believe it.
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