Every once in a while – when I’ve had a particularly bad day, or something’s been bothering me – I tend to think of the last most hurtful thing that happened to me.
Why?
I’m not quite sure.
Not only do I think of what’s hurt me, I tend to follow a trail that led to it. Incidents leading up to it, how I missed the most obvious signs…how the build up was, or was supposed to be at least.
Needless to say, the wrath that I feel brings me to new heights of self-loathing and self-disgust. And that teeeeeeenie weeeeeeeeeenie bit of ‘ok’ that I was feeling is dissolved and it gives an all new angle to my horrible day.
Why do I tend to feed this hatred?
Because it reminds me every single time of how naïve I’ve been. It tells me to be cautious. It makes me take a step back and reconsider. And reconsider I do. I start to think about things that I’d unintentionally taken for granted and being to contemplate the flipside of the situation.
It numbs me further to feed this hatred. It makes me wanna slap myself – and sometimes I do. Yes, physically slap myself. Just to remind myself. Of everything.
Some days are easier to get by than others. But a bad day is a bad day. A month, a week, a day or even an hour is enough to bring the worst of the lot back and it’s just as well.
As the day or week or month goes by, the wrath begins to take a back seat. It begins to slowly be overpowered by utter numbness.
As it turns out, it’s better not to feel than to feel and bear the consequences.
Detachment.
They don’t call me a saint for nothing.
