I’m not the forgiving type. I’m the “Let’s forget and fake move on” type. The type to not so secretly harbor what you did when I’m up thinking throughout the night. I was told forgiving means letting something go for the betterment of your spirit but misery loves company and I haven’t been ready to to be alone without my burdens from the transgressions from others. How else was I going to blame someone else for my shortcomings if I forgave them? How could I continue to to live life without playing the blame game for previous heartbreaks if I forgave them? Who could I chastise them for unresolved hurt and pain if I had forgiven everyone?

It wasn’t until I was damn near begging for forgiveness in someone’s inbox that I realized my audacity. Oh look at the woman who “refuses” to forgive, thinking she is entitled to a drop of what she wouldn’t give to someone else. Attempting to be forgiven after a night of an anger and whiskey filled rage that resulted in scars: physically and emotionally. A rage that scared everyone involved. A rage that should have left me on the side of the road with a sign that read ” I hate her, I hope she rots”. It was a response that came after months of trying that showed me what forgiveness looked like. After months of punishing myself, refusing to eat or sleep properly (I dropped 10 pounds because of that), refusing to look like anything other than a homeless person with a home (my hair is still pissed at me) and abandoning my love of writing…he replied.

“Hey, how are you? How is your mom?’

He should hate my guts right now. Hell, I definitely hate my guts for the both of us. Wait, was he being like me? Fake moving on but still secretly hating me and blaming me for his hurt, anger and pain? Was he waiting on me to talk about something positive and amazing in hopes that he will burst my bubble by reminding me when I was complete trash? Because that’s what I would be waiting on. It didn’t seem that way. Did he really forgive me? Did he understand that the hurt child that lived in me reared her ugly head that night?

Without much discussion of that night, I do know one thing. I have never cared enough about the person on the other side of my pain to ask about the well being of their mothers. That was grace that I never purely offered to those who hurt me which is why I carry them and that hurt with me everyday. That is too close to God and my hurt wouldn’t let me go in that direction. I didn’t care about how hurt people hurt other people. I have only cared about myself and my hurt. He taught me something in that response:

Forgiveness isn’t always for you. Sometimes it will save the person that was drowning in the pain that they used to hurt you. Hopefully it will also help and heal you in the process.