Mistakes and Forgiveness

A Pardon.

Exoneration from crimes committed. Is that truly what became the entire crux of my relationship status? In my head, if he would have accidentally backed my brand new car into a phone pole, that would be a mistake. An act that had not been his intention, but the outcome was still a big ass dent in my shiny new car.

The part I struggled with, beyond the shockingly tawdry images in my head that I will be stuck with for eternity, was the repetition of the ‘mistake’. If you continue to do something, you no you shouldn’t be doing, is it still really a mistake? These questions kept me up for days. I could go on and on… and on and on.

For what? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve made some mistakes in my life. I’m damn sure I’ve hurt people. This hurt begs to be different. To stand out more. It’s so much more personal, because it is an affront to your sense of self. What did she have that I didn’t give? Even after forgiveness is rendered, questions remain.

Who kisses better? Is she better in bed? When you close your eyes, are you still thinking about her? How do I turn off these thoughts? I’m now jealous of a ghost. How do you fight a memory that isn’t yours? That probably isn’t even real? At what point do you just throw your hands up in the air and admit you have gone off the fucking deep end?

This is my new normal since I’ve made the choice to love him more than the pain he caused. As tragic as it sounds, I will just hope that its out of his system, and that he knows me enough to know that if it happened again, he’d be right up there next to the kids’ father on my christmas card list. Meaning – I’d rip him from my life as if he never existed.

Maybe now I can stop crying in my sleep. I refused to cry after that first day, it was a conscious decision that I made because I’m not some petulant child in need of their mommy. Yet almost every morning, I woke up with hot heavy eyes and tear stains on my pillow. Perhaps now I can sleep for longer than 2 hours at a time.

Perhaps now I can fucking function as an adult, for all the other crazy dramatic things that keep happening in my life.

Perhaps now I can breathe.

Or not, and I will just live in the imbalance of forgiving but not forgetting.

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