This is a little piece I wrote about 5 minutes ago, in a fit of passion - maybe my muse was strangling me, demonic
Any feedback, anything at all, would be heaven. Also, title troubles (yet again!)
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I never forgive, but I forget faster than a two-inch goldfish. That’s the only way anyone can live with me. Remorse is a foreign concept. And guilt? I’ve never even poked at it with a yard long stick. It may seem heartless, but a justifiably self-righteous bitch like me cannot affect such emotions. That would be pretentious. Nope, with me, it’s honesty all the way. I see the beauty of telling it like it is. It is the others who have the problem.
There are, however, ways of solving their problems. I’ve tried talking to them civilly. I’ve pointed out the facts of the issue. I’ve explained that the root of the division is much smaller than they might suppose. That it is only the domino effect apparent in their thinking that has turned it into the multiple they see before them. It is simply a hyperbole. But they never listen. They say, ‘I don’t care’; a sure sign that they do.
I’ve tried begging. I’ve reduced myself, down to my knees, hands clasped and cried out for mercy. I’ve blamed every element of the mishap on myself. It takes a great amount of humility for me to blame myself, but once I decide to, I can do so without feeling a thing.
However, the best method is to wait in righteous anger. Their guilt is usually exponential before I’m even done cursing them. They eventually enter the equation, pouting and saying ‘sorry’. So I give them a hug, without an iota of guilt or forgiveness in my gut, and then it is solved. Oh, of course, I swear to myself that this time the grudge will be infinitive. It never is. Within a few days, I have forgotten and we have rediscovered equanimity. Still, on my part, there is never a second between apology and forgetfulness in which I consciously forgive.
What worries me though is the angle of my thoughts between argument and apology. The thoughts of leaving for nowhere, or popping five packets of pills, or even slashing myself open with a kitchen knife. I do not remember when my thoughts became so extreme. When they yell at me, I want them to hit me. I want them to pound me to oblivion. It would be so much easier if they would do it for me. No guilt, no remorse, no forgiveness for me. Just worthlessness, and then forgetfulness.
Then again, I suppose I don’t forget the actual fights. I just forget the anger. It is exhausting to be eternally angry, especially when I’m already exhausted of life. If I were angry, I’d have something to live for.
