Sunday, April 19, 2015
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Thoughts on a Gloomy Day
The thing I can't understand, is where all the hostility came from. I just can't get my head around it, no matter how hard I try.
I understand feeling awkward and embarrassed, once I'd revealed my feelings. I felt it too.
I understand needing time and space to process things, and I tried to give it to you. I really did. I tried so hard. But it's impossible to be around you and not love you: It just can't be done. The only way would be to go the route of hatred and bitterness, and I won't do that.
I understand not being able to continue in friendship as close as what it had been previously, because of feeling self-conscious or being afraid of misleading or hurting or being hurt.
I understand how communication becomes difficult when feelings are so intense; how sensitivities can cause misunderstandings and how everything is interpreted through the lens of one's own baggage.
I understand not wanting to take a chance on me, and I never blamed you. Whether you weighed all the factors, as you saw them, and came to a rational decision, or whether it was my fault because I went about it all wrong and freaked you out, or whether you just plain found me entirely unattractive, that's your decision, and I get it, whatever your reasons. And I never even asked you to explain, nor did I ever try to make my case to you, although I do think I could have something to say on that head, if you were willing to listen. No, I'm not good enough for you. But neither is anybody else. And I think I do have quite a lot to offer you, beginning with the fact that I at least realize how much you deserve, and that I would have to spend my whole life trying to earn what neither I nor any other man could ever deserve.
I understand now, though I didn't at first, how extraordinarily shy and reticent you are, and how intensely vulnerable and sensitive, although you try to hide it behind a veneer of cordial graciousness. And I understand how I blundered about, stepping on your feet because I'm exactly the opposite: honest to a fault and unabashedly open, though underneath that lies the same intensely vulnerable sensitivity as you have. We just deal with it differently.
What I don't understand is how you came to hate me. What did I do to deserve that? Ok, I tried too hard to save our friendship. I took too long to realize how sensitive you were, and how much space and consideration I needed to give you. I tried to be actively considerate when I should have done so by doing nothing. But I tried, and my mistakes were honest ones, made out of a sincere and loving heart. Can they not be forgiven?
What I don't understand is why you had to dismiss our entire friendship, as if it had been merely nothing. If that was true, then why did you use to hug me every time you saw me? What about all those smiles that were the light of my life? Why did you use to blush when I spoke to you? Why, when I had complimented something you wore, did you wear it again and again? Why did you come and find me and talk to me all the time, at church gatherings and social events? Why, if you didn't feel the connection that I felt, did you engage with me so profoundly and so often in those conversations we used to have? If I never meant anything to you at all, then why does my presence still affect you so intensely, albeit now negatively? Why, when I told you goodbye, did tears fill your eyes? Why, when I handed you the card months and months ago, did your hand tremble? Why, the Sunday I came back from my walk, did I see you crying in the pew? Why, just a few weeks ago, was I still seeing you glancing over at me, although you tried not to let me see? Why, when I did catch you looking, and our eyes met, did you blush deep red and look away? I'm not claiming that any of this means you were in love with me. I don't know what, exactly, your feelings were, and maybe neither did you. But I think it does mean that you felt something. Something more than "acquaintance".
What I don't understand is why we've never been able to even talk about it. Never. Not once, during two years of suffering and agony and misery and heartbreak and disruption to both our lives and the lives of everyone around us, have I never ONCE been afforded the courtesy of a face-to-face conversation with you about it. If you would have just talked to me, I believe all this could have been avoided. If you could have just explained to me, clearly, what you needed, I would have given it to you. Did you need me to leave you alone completely? Then all you had to do was say so. I even offered that very thing, but you told me it wasn't necessary. You left me to try and guess what you needed, and when I guessed wrong, you punished me. I can't read your mind.
What I don't understand is why, in the beginning, when I apologized for the intensity with which I had revealed my feelings to you, you said, "If I thought you had wronged me in any way, I would offer you forgiveness." But now that you do, obviously, think I've wronged you in some way, you won't forgive me. You won't even tell me how I've wronged you. Is this too much to ask? Can I not be afforded the opportunity to understand and repent of whatever wrong I've done you?
What I don't understand is why neither you nor your family have ever made the slightest effort to accept any of the responsibility for all this, nor to acknowledge that you may have wronged and injured me, too. I accept my share of the blame. In truth, I've taken more than my share. And I have asked repeatedly, and ask still, and again, for your forgiveness. But I can't take all the blame because it's not all my fault. You have wronged me, badly. You have hurt me, deeply. I forgive you. But the offering of forgiveness is only half the transaction: there must be acceptance of forgiveness and acknowledgement of wrong to complete the circuit. I don't even need some long and dramatic conversation about all the details of everything that's happened between us. I'd be satisfied with just a hug and all of us saying "We've all made mistakes in this: let us forgive each other and move on."
The only thing I've done to you is love you. Maybe I've loved you too much. But I didn't deserve this.
I understand feeling awkward and embarrassed, once I'd revealed my feelings. I felt it too.
I understand needing time and space to process things, and I tried to give it to you. I really did. I tried so hard. But it's impossible to be around you and not love you: It just can't be done. The only way would be to go the route of hatred and bitterness, and I won't do that.
I understand not being able to continue in friendship as close as what it had been previously, because of feeling self-conscious or being afraid of misleading or hurting or being hurt.
I understand how communication becomes difficult when feelings are so intense; how sensitivities can cause misunderstandings and how everything is interpreted through the lens of one's own baggage.
I understand not wanting to take a chance on me, and I never blamed you. Whether you weighed all the factors, as you saw them, and came to a rational decision, or whether it was my fault because I went about it all wrong and freaked you out, or whether you just plain found me entirely unattractive, that's your decision, and I get it, whatever your reasons. And I never even asked you to explain, nor did I ever try to make my case to you, although I do think I could have something to say on that head, if you were willing to listen. No, I'm not good enough for you. But neither is anybody else. And I think I do have quite a lot to offer you, beginning with the fact that I at least realize how much you deserve, and that I would have to spend my whole life trying to earn what neither I nor any other man could ever deserve.
I understand now, though I didn't at first, how extraordinarily shy and reticent you are, and how intensely vulnerable and sensitive, although you try to hide it behind a veneer of cordial graciousness. And I understand how I blundered about, stepping on your feet because I'm exactly the opposite: honest to a fault and unabashedly open, though underneath that lies the same intensely vulnerable sensitivity as you have. We just deal with it differently.
What I don't understand is how you came to hate me. What did I do to deserve that? Ok, I tried too hard to save our friendship. I took too long to realize how sensitive you were, and how much space and consideration I needed to give you. I tried to be actively considerate when I should have done so by doing nothing. But I tried, and my mistakes were honest ones, made out of a sincere and loving heart. Can they not be forgiven?
What I don't understand is why you had to dismiss our entire friendship, as if it had been merely nothing. If that was true, then why did you use to hug me every time you saw me? What about all those smiles that were the light of my life? Why did you use to blush when I spoke to you? Why, when I had complimented something you wore, did you wear it again and again? Why did you come and find me and talk to me all the time, at church gatherings and social events? Why, if you didn't feel the connection that I felt, did you engage with me so profoundly and so often in those conversations we used to have? If I never meant anything to you at all, then why does my presence still affect you so intensely, albeit now negatively? Why, when I told you goodbye, did tears fill your eyes? Why, when I handed you the card months and months ago, did your hand tremble? Why, the Sunday I came back from my walk, did I see you crying in the pew? Why, just a few weeks ago, was I still seeing you glancing over at me, although you tried not to let me see? Why, when I did catch you looking, and our eyes met, did you blush deep red and look away? I'm not claiming that any of this means you were in love with me. I don't know what, exactly, your feelings were, and maybe neither did you. But I think it does mean that you felt something. Something more than "acquaintance".
What I don't understand is why we've never been able to even talk about it. Never. Not once, during two years of suffering and agony and misery and heartbreak and disruption to both our lives and the lives of everyone around us, have I never ONCE been afforded the courtesy of a face-to-face conversation with you about it. If you would have just talked to me, I believe all this could have been avoided. If you could have just explained to me, clearly, what you needed, I would have given it to you. Did you need me to leave you alone completely? Then all you had to do was say so. I even offered that very thing, but you told me it wasn't necessary. You left me to try and guess what you needed, and when I guessed wrong, you punished me. I can't read your mind.
What I don't understand is why, in the beginning, when I apologized for the intensity with which I had revealed my feelings to you, you said, "If I thought you had wronged me in any way, I would offer you forgiveness." But now that you do, obviously, think I've wronged you in some way, you won't forgive me. You won't even tell me how I've wronged you. Is this too much to ask? Can I not be afforded the opportunity to understand and repent of whatever wrong I've done you?
What I don't understand is why neither you nor your family have ever made the slightest effort to accept any of the responsibility for all this, nor to acknowledge that you may have wronged and injured me, too. I accept my share of the blame. In truth, I've taken more than my share. And I have asked repeatedly, and ask still, and again, for your forgiveness. But I can't take all the blame because it's not all my fault. You have wronged me, badly. You have hurt me, deeply. I forgive you. But the offering of forgiveness is only half the transaction: there must be acceptance of forgiveness and acknowledgement of wrong to complete the circuit. I don't even need some long and dramatic conversation about all the details of everything that's happened between us. I'd be satisfied with just a hug and all of us saying "We've all made mistakes in this: let us forgive each other and move on."
The only thing I've done to you is love you. Maybe I've loved you too much. But I didn't deserve this.
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