Ah the advice, the quotes, the quick and easy fixes. Forgive and forget. Let go and let God. Pray for those who hurt you. Love your enemies. Bless those who curse your. Que sera, sera. Get over it already. Count your blessings. Don’t worry, be happy. Hakuna matata. It is what it is.
Easier said than done. Honestly, nearly impossible, when you have been betrayed. I thought I had experienced pain, that I knew how it felt. I have suffered loss, sickness, abandonment, injustice, disappointment, and sadness, but the pain of betrayal causes a wound so deep, and envelops you in its grasp so completely, it blots out everything good. Betrayal gives birth to deep-seated fear and has caused me to question everything in my life, even the good things. I feel lost, in a fog, and question my very existence. Nothing is safe, or solid, or good anymore. I reach out to grab hold of something solid, to hold on to even one small slice of happiness, and it slips out of my hands.
That is the pain of betrayal, and it hurts all the more when it is perpetrated by those you love, those you thought loved you. A pain so deep, so gut-wrenching, so pervasive, it is always there, and can never be pushed completely out of my mind. The kind that sneaks up on you out of nowhere and takes your breath away. I pray, try to keep busy, listen to music, read books and articles, talk and journal and blog, all to no avail. The pain is tricky that way, because just when I think it is safe, just when I think the pain is less, that I’m beginning to heal, it smacks me in the face, kicks me in the solar plexus, reminding me it is still there. Pain so real it is palpable, visible, with a life of its own. The pain lurks around every corner, behind every shadow, and wraps its sinewy arms around my heart and my chest, making it hard to breathe. The intensity of the hurt makes me furrow my brow, and causes tears to well up without any warning.
Betrayal does not make me stronger--it makes me weaker. It has not made me wiser--it has made me feel foolish. Everything is harder now--sleeping, enjoying, smiling, praying. It is there when I wake up, when I go to bed at night, and when I try not to think about it all. Like a jealous lover, the pain of betrayal refuses to allow me to enjoy anything or anyone completely. And it is absolutely exhausting to try to act normal, to smile, to pretend I am doing okay.
Today was a dark day, the pain and the hurt won. They jumped me when I was least expecting them, and then kept me prisoner all day long, and halfway into the night. If I was a poet perhaps I could write some splendid verse to capture the pain and thus make it leave, or at least lessen for a time. But I am not.
So, for a while, I breathe, therefore I hurt.
Someone make it stop.
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