But I’m Still Waiting…
A few weeks ago, I happened to see a lot of folks tweeting a link for a blog post entitled “Not Ready to Make Nice.” (Post can be found at http://www.theworld4realz.com/not-ready-to-make-nice/) Just the title immediately evoked a response in me, and I tried my darndest to get it down. This is actually the second piece I attempted, and well, I’m still waiting for that healing as you’ll see.~ML
There is a turn on my drive home to my parents, about a mile and a half away from the house. It’s where my hands start to get clammy. In the next half mile, my gut clenches, the butterflies arrive, and panic threatens. I tell myself I’m not going to, but I flip off that house every single time I pass it, and I am shaky nearly that entire last mile of my 450 mile trip. Not only am I shaky, I am angry. I am angry at the women who live there, at the ones who no longer live there. They are cold, calculating she-bitches, every single one of them, and nothing will convince me otherwise.
Nearly fourteen years have passed since my uncle left the toxic Queen she-bitch that is their mother. From that moment, I stopped claiming them. They are my father’s nieces, my uncle’s daughters, my siblings’ cousins, but are of no relation to me. As far as I’m concerned, I do not know them. If I happen upon one of them on the street, I will pretend I do not know them. If I’m ever forced into some bizarre situation in which I must communicate with them, I will play it as if I’ve never met them. I actually look forward to the chance to pull out the quizzical stupefied look that I have yet to perfect, and say, “I’m sorry, but do I know you?” if one of them actually has the audacity to try to engage me in conversation. I don’t think they would dare, but I like to be prepared.
It’s been fourteen years, and I cannot forgive; I will not forget. Let me tell you, time does not heal everything. I realize now that I am still chained, still a prisoner of all the things they did, all the things they said. It’s almost like I’m still that teenage girl being thrown down the church steps or locked out on that hotel balcony during a church trip; that girl that always had gum in her hair, that girl that was ostracized, terrorized, and humiliated in every possible way. Someone recently suggested to me that these women no longer remember, or realize all that they did. There was a hint that I should just accept that as fact. Well, the fact is, I cannot. The thing is, I know these women. I know how easily others are cast under their spell. They say a leopard cannot change its spots; in the same way, these women cannot shed the she-bitch gene that is so deeply embedded in their DNA.
And truly, as the Dixie Chicks so elegantly *throws up in my mouth a little* put it, “Forgive, sounds good; Forget, I’m not sure I could; They say time heals everything, But I’m still waiting…I’m not ready to make nice; I’m not ready to back down; I’m still mad as hell… It’s too late to make it right; I probably wouldn’t if I could.” Boy, I do hate it when other people say it better than I can! And yes, I’m heading home for Christmas, and yes, I’ll try not to, but I will probably end up flipping off that house at least 2 times during my trip…*sigh*