In the depths of my past, there exists a chapter stained with the memories of pain and betrayal. A figure once close, now distant, had inflicted upon me wounds that ran deeper than the scars visible to the eye. Years have passed, yet the burden of unforgiveness lingers heavy within my heart.
As time marches on, I find myself standing at a crossroads of emotions. It’s a conflicted emotion, a raw and unfiltered sentiment born from years of torment. The scars, though healing, are far from forgotten. And while forgiveness remains my goal, there are moments when a desire for some form of reckoning arises.
Well, a flicker of darkness sometimes still lingers. Despite my efforts to forgive, a part of me yearns for closure, a final chapter to the painful story. I’d still be happy if one day I heard he dies.
But I recognize that this desire doesn’t bring me the solace I seek. It’s a fleeting, hollow satisfaction that doesn’t mend the wounds or ease the pain. Instead, it perpetuates the cycle of bitterness and resentment. I realize that in refusing to forgive, I am allowing the one who hurt me to continue to hold power over my life, even from afar.
It is a treacherous path, lined with the shards of shattered trust and the echoes of torment. It’s a journey through the fires of anger and resentment, a voyage into the depths of a personal hell. With each step, the weight of bitterness and betrayal hangs heavily on my shoulders, threatening to pull me under. The memories, like relentless ghosts, haunt me, refusing to fade. The whispers of self-blame echo through the labyrinth of my mind, complicating the journey even further.
Yet, the most hellish part of this odyssey is not the revisiting of past wounds; it’s the paradox of feeling compassion for the one who caused me such suffering. It’s learning to release the desire for revenge, to extinguish the flame of anger that burns in my chest.
But as I navigate this tormenting landscape, I come to understand that forgiveness is not a gift to the abuser; it’s a lifeline for my own liberation.
I choose to unburden myself from the weight of anger and resentment, to break free from the chains of the past. I remind myself that forgiveness is not a one-time event but a daily choice, a practice of letting go.
I’m gradually discovering that forgiving doesn’t mean the scars will vanish, but it does mean that I can heal and rebuild. It’s a testament to my resilience, my strength, and my commitment to a more liberated future. So, with each step I take on this path of forgiveness–though it sometimes felt like hell–I find solace in the belief that I am reclaiming my power and rewriting the story of my life.
One chapter at a time.
-K
kickat 