Monday, October 7, 2013

Here on the Ground

I felt it this morning. The weight of it upon my shoulders. The coating so thick that my fingers got lost
when I pressed upon its sleeve.
Your words this morning. Why did I even look? Maybe I'm a shame addict. I've been accused of being addicted to suffering. I suppose shame isn't far removed.
Your words this morning. "Sometimes it is hard to forgive." That may be so, but it's not forgiveness that you want to give. You want reconciliation. Is it possible to forgive without reconciliation? Sure it is. It's possible. But not for you. For you, it is either perfect harmony or pure hatred.

How I wish it were this simple. But it is far from it. And it isn't pizza I have given you. I give you access to me. My guilt demands it to be so. 
I thought I could manipulate love itself. I said "yes" with my lips before I said "yes" with my heart. Layer one. In determination, I manipulated myself in order to love you. Layer two. When I cracked, I manipulated the demise of "us." Leah let you in. Anna stabbed you. And the guilt thickens.
Call me a Pharisee. Rejecting the forgiveness of Christ. Determined to earn it from you. I even gave you the trophy, "I left her."
The dance is cyclic. The maypole is guilt. In guilt, I approach you for forgiveness. At first you resist. I drop to my knees. You begin to budge. I grovel on the ground. You take the opportunity to insert yourself back into my life.
But that is where the allergic reaction begins. Think of the tick that you must force to leave on its own.
I even gave you the trophy, "I left her."
Perhaps I am Elizabeth: "What if he took all the assets and I took all the blame? But not even that offer would bring settlement. Now I was at a loss. How do you negotiate once you've offered everything?"
The guilt remains. I've told you to let go--and you claim you have, and yet you still dig in.

On the ground, I can be convinced that you're all I need--that you're my savior from guilt. So I let you dig in. It is the cost I must pay.
To be the perpetual "good girl."
Leah let you in.
But then the allergic reaction begins again. Anna stabbed you. And the guilt thickens. So we dance.
"Christians are dedicated to maturity and unity." But it's more than unity you want. You want harmony--perfect harmony. The punishment of failure to obtain such is pure hatred. 
"Loved people love people." That's the thing of it. Leah let you in. Anna stabbed you. They both manipulated you. I manipulated you. I am unlovable.
And then you say those words. "Did I mean nothing to you?" You force me to my knees.
Gravity. "Something always brings me back to you. . . ."
I just want to be free. I want to be free from guilt more than I want you.
"Loved people love people." Give me the hatred. If that's what it takes. Being the good girl keeps me on the ground.
I exploited you. I manipulated you. Every sugar-coated statement, a sugar-coated lie. I let you in. I stabbed you.
Here on the ground I beg you. Take it all. Everything I thought I could be. Take it and give me hatred. Set me free.

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