Oh sure, we can delude ourselves into thinking that forgetting about something that someone did that cuts into our hearts is just a matter of thinking about it, and boom, it's done. Maybe in some cases, in cases involving simple offenses that don't injure beyond a superficial scratch. But when harboring anger at an offense from months ago, a gash that is deep and throbbing, genuine forgiveness is more an act of daily exorcism.
Harboring bitterness, resentment and rage is so very toxic. Often we mistakenly believe that holding on to that anger will hurt the perpetrator in return for the pain they caused us. Oh, how deceiving that is. In all reality, we hurt - prolong the hurt - no one but ourselves.
It's hard to forgive. It is painful and tiring. It is a daily process until every last poisonous tendril is uprooted and healing can begin.
I did not realize until yesterday during a conversation with a very wise friend that I am very angry indeed. I've been harboring it for a couple of months. In doing so, I allowed it to grow, to fester, to permeate areas in my life that it did not initially reside. It's a tricky little thing, anger... entangles itself like a relentless vine, twisting and tangling over, around and through everything it touches. It makes sense, too, now that I think about it. I've been indifferent to things that normally snap my attention right up. Creativity and inspiration have been elusive, sporadic at best or simply resulting from necessity. I've avoided people to avoid addressing any heart matters or having to honestly answer "how are you?" inquiries (for I am a terrible liar). Oh, I've pretended to be tough, to be the stoic ninja that is incapable of weakness, and for awhile there I had quite a convincing act.
Ironically though, my behavior and attitudes toward things perplexed even me. I could not understand why I was completely indifferent to how my choreography project ended up last semester. Or why I cared less about how I performed in my modern dance final exam? Why was I counting the remaining months, weeks and days in the semester until it was over and I could get away from that place? Why now, knowing I should in the very least be doing barre exercises in my kitchen to maintain some level of dance conditioning over the break, can I not even bring myself to consider dancing without feelings of dread bubbling up? And most of all, where the heck did the sassy, doesn't-accept-defeat-without-a-good-fight ninja go??
The fact that I don't even want to dance kills me. And that angers me the most.
Sharing all of this with my friend, combined with his legit two cents on how to reclaim me, immediately lifted some weight and I feel lighter. And the instincts to fight and show 'em what's up started to resurface.... they're faint, but they're there.
I want my dance mojo back, dammit. And I'm going to get it.