The hardest to forgive

Some people view me as harsh. It's true, I don't mince words. I never have, I never will. I find "tip toeing around" and "beating around the bush" to be disrespectful to myself and to the person I'm addressing. Seriously, don't we all just deserve some honesty? I am not about to insult anyone's intelligence by assuming that they cannot handle the bold, bare assed truth. I sure wouldn't want anyone to underestimate me that way. But some folks don't enjoy it, some folks find me preachy, holier than thou, yadda yadda yadda. What these folks don't really understand is that there is one person who gets the brunt of my bluntness. One person who continually fails to live up to my expectations. One person who has sinned and erred and screwed up and made atrocious choices. One person who nags me and sits in my head and won't leave me alone, no matter what I say or do. One person who calls out to me in the middle of night, waking me from a deep sleep, wishing I had a stiff drink and a treadmill so I could be bold and run myself far away her.
One person.
One person.
One person.
Myself.
All in all, I'm pretty happy with myself now. My life is on a good track, I believe in myself and I like myself. I trust my gut and my instinct and my intellect. I am fair and honest and relatively open minded. I have an amazing family, a cache of friends that rival that popular sitcom from a few years back. I make wise choices. I consider others. I think before I act and try to see what kind of an example I'm about to set before I set it. I'm an adult. A grown up. A responsible, respectable, rowdy, revolutionary (in my dreams, if no where else,) woman.
But I wasn't always this way.
I spent many years doing things that, when I think back on them now, make my skin crawl. I sacrificed who I was for men. I confused sex with love. I read more into things than actually existed. I honestly believed that the pain of a harsh word from a man was worth it because it meant that what I was feeling was "real," and I was so glad to have the experience. Please, sir, go ahead and demean me some more! It is so painful and raw that it must mean that I really love you - and if I really love you, then I can make you love me. << Wretch.>>
I answered phone calls at 2 in the morning and I got up, got dressed, and drove to this guy's house (over 30 miles away,) just to be with him. I did this repeatedly for a couple of years. Oh yeah, other folks got booty calls, but not me. No, he really loved me still, really still cared about me, wanted to be with me. He was just too busy to see me during human hours. <<Hurl>>
I laughed like a hyena at stupid jokes, wore jeans too tight and shirts too low. I listened to music I detested, watched movies that went straight to video and swore they were Oscar worthy, insisted that I didn't get Shakespeare, either, (I've been reading and loving Shakespeare since 5th grade.) <<Heave>>
Get where I'm going?
If you know me, you know that I'm not even a shadow of that person now. What you just finished reading might have surprised you. It surprises me.
My husband tells me that I'm sexist now. He tells me that I expect more from women than from men (true) and that makes me sexist (possibly true.) I have spent the better part of my adulthood (didn't start for me until I was 24,) fighting for women's rights, for equality and justice and peace and understanding. I have defined who I am as a woman and I have defined what I am for and what I am against. It's pretty clear. While I admire tolerance, I'm not really good at it because I simply detest women who are all about everything I've been fighting against. You know, things like changing who they are for a man, insisting that when he said, "Oh I want you," he really meant "Oh I love you." Things like wearing trampy clothes, drinking too much, acting completely and totally age inappropriately. Basing their self worth on the existence, or lack there of, of a man. Like manipulating men, just becaause they can. Wagging their finger to get them to come running and, when they do, zapping them with the shock collar (figuratively.)
Things like I used to do.
I used to do.
I used to do.
There are people in my life who live this way. I have raged about them and cried about them and shut them out and let them in and tried to forget and lead and teach and learn and understand. I have tried to love them and hate their behaviors.
Truth of the matter is that these behaviors do revolt me. They do nauseate me and sicken me and infuriate me and steel my resolve to live differently than that and hopefully lead others by example. I try. I try every single day and I try hard. But someone still eludes me. One person.
One person
One person
One person
Mamakohl in her late teens and early 20's. She revolts me and nauseates me and sickens me and infuriates me. She is the hardest to forgive.