Thirty Somethings...Thing 8

Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.

Well sure. There have been some folks in my life who'd fit quite neatly into this category. One in particular. I can still recall in vivid detail the thud that hoagie made as it hit the wall after sailing past my ear. And the crash of the tv as it gave way to his anger and landed at my feet. And the unleashing of my inner fire-breathing dragon when, from out of nowhere, I belched out through clenched teeth, "Would you just fucking HIT ME! Then I'd have reason enough to walk away!" And the barely audible whisper of my bruised and battered esteem..."He doesn't have to hit you for you to walk away..."

I don't think about those days much and I'm not angry about them anymore. They are simply part of the intricate pattern of my History Quilt. Some of the patches are a little fucked up, but the seams are strong.

There is one person, though, whom I hold most accountable for treating me terribly in the past; someone I should have been able to rely on for kindness and tenderness and compassion. And that person is me.

I'm not going to beat myself up for it given my penchant for letting people off the hook these days. At the time, I didn't think I deserved any better, and that's sad enough without adding to it some self censure. At least now I know I do, in fact, deserve better and act accordingly. Since the dawning of that realization, the folks who happen to treat me shittily either matter enough to have some explaining to do, or simply don't matter at all.

I'm not saying I'm perfectly, awesomely awesome over here in Perfectly Awesome Land or anything. I have not found the magical cure to self-doubt and, once in a while, even self-loathing. But it is no longer where I live. I visit I-Suck-ville once in a while and then head back home. After being the Mayor of I Suck-ville for many years, A sucky Mayor if you'd have asked me at the time, I am more than happy with my humble abode here in the rural stretch between Perfectly Awesome Land and I-Suck-ville.

And hoagies and TVs do not fly here. They are eaten and watched. Preferably simultaneously.