Every Broken Piece

I’m aware of my past. I know what I’ve done. I’ve made mistakes, and I’m okay with that. At least I had been until now.

Never before had I considered my regrets together, as a stream of life, or as a whole. This is a torture I would never have inflicting upon myself, given the choice. It just happened, abruptly as I wandered through Rob’s backyard garden. The first pang of guilt that hit was one of the most recent, and most severe, resulting from that night at the pub when I drank too much, flirted too much, and ended up in the hospital with a concussion. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive myself for my mother’s death, indirectly related to her car accident while on her way to visit me.

My conscience didn’t allow me to meditate on this but instead hit me with another pang, then another, and another. The pangs came in rapid-fire succession, flashing through my minds eye in high definition, crisp and sharp, some of them as harmless as dryer lint, many catastrophic, and each a separate sock in the stomach. I couldn’t stop the images and I buckled, first at the knees, then the spine, until I was in the grass. That was when I began to relive the regrets that were made against me, when I was a little girl. One by one they came, in excruciating detail, ripping my heart to pieces. I rolled in the grass and wept, really truly wept. My life was an open wound, raw and sore, and I mourned over these memories, one by one.

By the next day the wound had closed and returned to its natural protected state. I could still remember everything, but most of the feelings associated with them had faded. I still felt pangs of guilt, but instead of having them from what had been done; the pangs were for what has yet to come. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was deceiving Ethan. He had no idea what he was getting into.  A man like that should not have to waste his time on a woman like me. I had no choice but to break up with him.  So I called him.

“We need to break up,” I said, not bothering with meaningless chatter.

Part of me wanted Ethan to agree quickly, so I could hang up and get on with my life. Another part of me wanted him to fight to his bloody death to keep me.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“There’s so much about me you don’t know. I—”

How in the world was I going to say this? Words could not express my feelings.

“There’s so much you don’t know. I’ve done terrible things. These are awful, terrible things Ethan, some of which I haven’t forgiven my self for, so how could I ask anyone else to forgive them?

“We all have regrets—”

“It’s deeper than that. Not only do I have regrets, but regretful things have happened to me, horrible, terrible, regretful things. I’m damaged Ethan. Broken. You deserve better. Somebody whole.”

“I want you. Don’t you understand that God put you on this earth for me?”

“But, you don’t know me.”

“You’re wrong. I do know you. I know about the lies. The hurt, the deception masking a covered heart, the fierce search for meaning, and love, and passion. I recognize the behavior. I’ve seen it all before.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I know what happened. I know Victor hurt you. I know because of the things you’ve said and the ways you’ve acted. I know because it happened to my mother. Her uncle hurt her too. I’ve seen how it’s affected her. I know you don’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real, but you have to face it. My mother never did and it has eaten her up from the inside. Victor molested you. There, I’ve said it out loud because it’s what really happened. He raped the innocent little girl you once were, but you are not damaged. You are beautifully flawed, precious in the eyes of God. He loves you and He will never leave you. I love you. I will not leave you, not for something as human as this. I want you, all of you, every broken piece.”

KAC

The image above is by Clarita at: http://morguefile.com/archive/display/209866