Thursday, June 05, 2014

I'm choosing to forgive you:

you, the man who lied to me
you, the man who decided I wasn't worth his time 
and even you, the man who raped me.

I'm choosing to forgive you even though you believe you've done nothing wrong. I'm forgiving you in all your blithe ignorance, your self righteousness and your stubborn denial. I'm forgiving you, even though I know you haven't changed and probably never will. I'm forgiving you even though you are not safe. I'm forgiving you even though you don't deserve it.

Forgiving you doesn't mean I'm excusing what you did. You were a cunt. Things won't ever be how they were before. I don't trust you. Forgiving you doesn't mean I'm going to stop seeking justice.

Forgiving you means I'm moving on, that I'm letting go of all of this: the barbed-wire anger, the dead-weight guilt, the futile quest to figure out why you did what you did. I'm exhausted from picking at all my old wounds, so I'm going to let them heal. It's over now.

I wish I could get through to you. I wish you could understand, in crushing detail, how much you broke me, and the realisation of that would break your heart in turn. But that's not going to happen, is it? You actually believe your excuses. But that's ok, in this one sense at least; because I don't need your permission to forgive you.

It's about me choosing to put this to rest. It's about me choosing to be more than what I've overcome. It's about me eventually being in a place where I can put my energies into the people who love me, rather than brooding over the people who don't.

I am more than the girl who weathered the storm of you.