I am nearly always sorry afterward. Nearly. My closest friends and my sister know my moods and how my mind works. They understand that there are times when I am not feeling myself and I try, with everything I have, to pick a fight. If someone decides to fight back, knowing that in the grand scheme, it is irrelevant, but crucial to my psyche, then all is good. When I am left to my own design, I deal with the the only way I know how. The way that works best for me. I throw things.
Yep. I throw things that shatter and break. Tonight it was a Bone-China cup. A wonderful sound does Bone-China make when it shatters into a hundred pieces. It seems that, as that glass shatters, so does all the hatefulness and stress that is, at the moment, overtaking my body and mind. When my husband was living, he became adept at dodging flying objects. I hit him once and, after the first pump-knot, he learned that I aimed to hit. We laughed about it, even though, at the moment of impact, it wasn’t funny. Fulfilling and comforting to me, but not funny. Not at the moment. I hurt him, physically, and shocked him otherwise. I was sorry, but not enough to promise to never do it again. I did it again, a few times, but he had learned to gauge my moods and knew when flying objects would be part of his world. He would never fight back with me though. And so, the outbursts to my sister and friends continued, escalating after his death, and now back to normal outburst frequency. It amazes me sometimes that they don’t just tell me to get lost. I am so very blessed.
It is a rare thing for me to get so stressed that I resort to that. If the truth be known, when I stopped at my sisters house last evening, it was to provoke a fight. She knows better than anyone that sometimes, I just need to have it out with somebody and is, usually, a willing sparring partner. She wasn’t home, though, and I couldn’t find enough hatefulness in my heart to take it out on my niece and brother. So I turned to my friends. They must feel so special to get a message a couple of times a year that tell them just how badly they have pissed me off. I know, were I to receive such a message, I would just cry; maybe for days. But they know how my mind works. They understand the need for release and none of them, so far, have held it against me. I have, however, had to offer an apology or two when I forgot my boundaries. I don’t forget my boundaries as much as I ignore them. But I never, ever want to hurt anyone’s feelings intentionally, although, on occasion, I do without meaning to. For that, I really am sorry.
I used to apologize for myself all the time, but in the last few years, I have decided that I am who I am. And who I will be is yet to be determined because I haven’t crossed that bridge yet. My friends know me, my family understands me and I am at peace, for the most part, with myself; what else on earth could anyone ask for?
Proverbs 27: 5-6 ~ Better is open rebuke than hidden love. Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy multiplies kisses.
A Photographer's Heart 