But yet my heart is so good. There’s something about me that picks up strays all day long. I mean I’m the person who tried to keep the baby pigeon alive on my back porch after her mother deserted her. I’m the person who moved a young gay male into my home after his grandmother throw him out over his lifestyle and I practically raised a teenage girl, moving her into my home and assuming a good deal of the responsibility for her. My Pastor calls it the Pastor spirit. He told me, there’s this impulse to save.
I’ve learned over the years that when someone hurts you, you better take notice. Loyalty and trust is everything to me. So when that teenage girl, became a young lady and looked me in the face and lied with tears running down her face, “Mommie, I would never do such a thing.” She had been stealing my BMW while I was on the road speaking and one day she left the garage door open and the other tenant’s car was burglarized. My landlord said to me over the phone, “Mrs. Thornton, when I came into the garbage the door was wide open.” I side with confidence, “But Mrs. Hawkins, I’m out of town. I have nothing to do with this.” She replied, “Mrs. Thornton, but your car was gone.”
As the drama escalated over the week. This girl whom I had given the world to looked me right back in my face less then a week later and said with a straight face, “Yeah I lied. You just mad cause I’m not kissing your ass.”
It didn’t take a rocket science to see that we had moved into a dangerous shade of grey. That’s when I asked for all of my keys home and car. When lying becomes that easy, you take notice. The saying goes, fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. But it’s a hard thing taking notice when you love someone.
But their lingered my Pastor Spirit, something inside of me that told me that she needed me to save her... To love all her pain away... But I was trying to save her and killing me in the process.
Same thing with Mama who raised me. She was a walking contradiction. One moment she was sweet as pie and the next I was bitch this and motherfucker that. But for the most part in my adult years, I negotiated and found balance well. I made my visits and calls short with Mama, because I could never trust her next move.
And after years of finding balance with my biological mother, mental illness, she dug a knife in my heart and twisted it. Lead by her mental illness, she sent me the most horrific letter. It began like this,
It was the same with Mama. I took care of her for two years in her battle with cancer and then buried her with class and dignity. A girlfriend asked me the day I buried Mama, “How did you do it?” I said, “I took care of Mama because of who I am, not because of who she was.”
I try to love others, like how I want to be loved. But when someone hurts you whether it’s a lover or a friend you are left with many shades of grey. Like how do you look someone in the face and smile and they dug a knife into you? And does it make you any less of a person that you can’t be their friend? We throw this quote around like confetti, "When someone shows you who they are believe them." But when it’s time to put this saying into practice, some how we are judged because we don’t want to fuck with hurt no more.
It’s like catching your lover in bed with someone, are you suppose to crawl back into that same bed he shared with another? In this case you are left with a lot of hurt and often times a deep abiding love for that person. At least the person you thought they were. I mean did you ever think your lover would be in bed with someone other than you? Like how am I suppose to trust you ever again? How do I determine who you really are, and who I loved?
For months now I’ve been trying to sort out the pieces. The different shades of grey. The why? The how could I have been so blind sided? The what the fuck do you do with this kind of hurt; The kind of hurt that scares the fuck out of you, a fear of your own personal well being, physically and emotionally. The profound emotional abuse that comes with this level of betrayal. The working through what is real and what ain’t.
So, I’m finally at a place where I can work it out in therapy. I need to heal, and you can’t heal holding onto the hurt. Nor can you pretend this shit didn’t happen. You have to deal with it, all of it and deal with it at face value. You must be willing to call a spade a spade no matter how painful it may be, or you are no better off then you were living in the hurt.
For sure, healing must take place before their can ever be a friendship again. And the thing is, while you can be sure of your own healing, you can never quite be sure of the other persons healing. Like have they really worked on the thing that made them violate you in these proportions?
Like for real, for real, trying to determine what’s real and what ain’t has taken over my life. That’s why I’m glad I’m giving it over to a mental health professional who can help me sort out the truths and accept the lies. To help me heal from this unfathomable breach of trust.
What I know for sure, is that Forgiveness is a must in order to heal. Forgiveness is a must if you live the life of a Christian. There is peace in forgiveness. You must do it because it’s who you say you are, not because of you they are, or what they did to you.
For sure, I know that once their has been a breach of mass portions, nothing can be the same again. The author Nella Larson has a line in her book Passing, If a man calls me a nigger it’s his fault the first time, but mine if he has the opportunity to do it again.