Last week, I believed. I thought the denial was gone. I thought that it was time, Kairos time, for me to finally believe, to finally make peace with my past.
This week, I stopped believing. It just happened.
Last week, I was a mess because I believed. I had several episodes, abandoning my car and needing rescue.
This week, I am fine because I am in denial again. Fine, of course, does not mean great.
It means stifled.
Angry. Angry at the wind, the hills, everyone. I was furious at the wind for blowing me today when I was running, how it teamed up with the hill to sabatoge my run. I laughed out loud at the absurdity of my anger.
Last week, I cut off contact with the perpetrators.
This week, we have conversed regularly.
Last week, I was terrified that they were going to send someone to kill me for “talking.”
This week, I am glad to be back in their graces.
Last week, I was horrified at the evil of what really happened, yet relieved that I could finally acknowledge the truth.
This week, I am lulled to sleep by the denial, by the brainwashing and lies.
Is there hope for some unity of mind, for an undivided heart? Is there a way that my mind can call a cease-fire, and the war can end? Or does everyone still find their role indispensable? Maybe it is. Maybe we need a week off here and there.