Whilst out walking tonight a memory came flooding back. At the time I didn’t know what prompted it. Now some hours later I am reminded why.
A couple of days ago I saw someone from my past. They were an important part of my life for a couple of years. I adored them. They knew that and exploited it, in many cruel ways but still, I adored them.
They would make a fool of me in a bar full of people or a house party with friends. Yet behind closed doors, they were completely different. We would sit up listening to music and talk all night. There were even times they would read to me. Nobody has read to me before or since. At the time I thought it an intimate thing to do. Sharing their favourite literature with me. I still think that it is.
When we were in public they would completely change. They would call me names, tease and taunt me in front of an audience. Or phone me to ask me over to their house whilst in a room full of their friends, listening and laughing in the background, then they would ignore the door when I arrived. Invite me over telling me that it would be just the two of us and when I arrived they would have a friend already there.
On several occasions they would ask if I would be their girlfriend then pretend the next day like it never happened.
It finally came to an end when they kissed another girl in front of me while I was working in our local bar.
I was devastated. It took me longer than I care to admit to get over them. They waited until I found someone else and saw that it was a happy, committed relationship. Before picking their moment to attempt to rekindle things with me. I was tempted but I decided against going back to them, I knew that it was a trick. They didn’t want me and they didn’t want anyone else to have me either. They made several attempts, I resisted each one.
What popped into my head wasn’t what I just told you. It was something they said to me once. “Being nasty doesn’t suit you”
Why did they say this? It was because I had begun to retaliate against their behaviour. I attempted to give as good as I got. Treating them badly as they had done me.
They were right. It wasn’t who I am. I very quickly resumed my normal self. Admittedly my attempts were pretty feeble. Nastiness did not suit me at all.
I have never tried acting this way again. I don’t have it in me to be nasty. Even if I am pushed.
I treat people how I would like to be treated. Since I became chronically ill. I retain unlimited kindness and compassion. Even for those who don’t deserve it.
Sometimes I wonder if this person I speak of has changed. If they learned kindness and compassion. It’s possible they are one of the ones who just don’t have the tools.
Part of living on a peedie island I find most difficult is that your past is never your past. Every day you walk along the corridors of memories past. Continually greeted by faces and places of old. This is probably why I have always feel trapped.