Revenge vs. Compassion

I watched a movie in which 4 teen boys were brutally sodomized. Two grew up thugs, 2 were relatively successful. They had a chance to exact revenge upon their perpetrators, and through an elaborate set up accomplished just that! At one point their plan hinged upon a priest who had befriended them in their youth lying under oath in a court of law. I adamantly expressed that I wanted him to. I felt strongly that he should. I was sure I would. Lying under oath is something that I didn't think I would ever do, but in the context of this movie I was sure, absolutely positive that I would. I figured God would WANT it for there to be true justice. And then I got angry, because I can never exact revenge upon my perpetrators. I felt rage because I am powerless. I have felt rage all my life, it seems. What do I get, when I cannot get revenge?

I thought of Mandela's quote, the thing about how he knew he had to leave the hatred and bitterness behind or he would remain in prison. Those boys in the movie, they succeeded in getting revenge but the thugs ended up dead shortly after and the other two led empty lives. The revenge did nothing to assuage the searing pain that is betrayal. I thought of my own betrayal, the little child with the searing emotional pain that was so intolerable she never walked through it to the other side. Would revenge mean anything to her?  For a moment I saw her - wrapped up in her pain - and I felt compassion. That is what I get in place of revenge, the opportunity to feel compassion. I don't hate the man who brutalized me, I feel more of a general hatred and if I try to push myself to find an object for that hate I become the object I hate. I have hated myself forever. I have been exacting revenge upon myself forever. I have never, ever forgiven that little child for not being able to stop the pain, for feeling that overwhelming betrayal, and for giving in to the terror. But today I felt compassion for her, because it became clear to me that a little child's capacity to cope with and make sense of astonishing betrayal is quite minimal. And this little child that was me did an amazing thing - she survived by dissociating. Furthermore, because of dissociation, I have crafted a life that gives me this opportunity - the opportunity to feel compassion.

Betrayal becomes a dark shadow in a person's life - and revenge does nothing to kill the shadow because a shadow is inseparable from the flesh. If you have a body, you will at times have a shadow. No amount of sex, booze, or self-hatred will dispense of the body's shadow. I suppose I could have lived in darkness all my life and never have to see the shadow, but how is that different from being a shadow? Today I looked at my shadow and realized that it is something with me and will always be with me as long as I am flesh and blood on this planet. I am okay with that. Sometimes I won't have to see the shadow, sometimes it will seem like it's all I am. But I know revenge won't get rid of it.

That leaves me with compassion. I have some for the little child. I remain indifferent to the perpetrator, and ambivalent to the other main figure in my life. But I can entertain the idea of compassion for both. I won't push myself too hard on that front. I will, however, practice compassion for self. Self is temporary, as it is, and so with limited time on this planet I might as well give my self credit for the incredible feat of survival. And there really is no reason to be afraid of my shadow - it is an echo of pain and terror too great to bear as a little girl but maybe not for a grown woman (in bits and pieces, when well rested, with tea and warm bed available, and a chihuahua to pet...)

If I don't let go of the bitterness and hatred, I will remain imprisoned by my shadow. I'd rather walk with my shadow, and tell the girls inside that it's okay to step into the sun every now and then.

It's unusual for me to be up at 3 am. My mind is spinning with deep thoughts on our political system (an aristocracy, run by wealthy elites who cater to their constituency,  the businesses. Dem and Rep alike, party identificatiin is meaningless and only feeds the beast. There is no lesser evil, no way to not throw your vote away. Unless you vote your conscience you are voting to keep the corporate politicians in place and human dignity will continue to erode.) But politics isn't the only rider on the carousel tonight. My mind is holding up the images of the nice guys at work, people I want to be friends with, people who are nice to me. I don't know how to navigate friendships with men and I've been crying because there are interesting people I work with, people I'd like to hang with, but with narcolepsy, dissociation, and trauma related anxiety I don't have the time and energy and skill set to make friends. One of the guys made a cd for me. I'm up in the middle of the night blogging about it because it made me cry. I fucking hate friends. I want friends. But there's more. I found an awesome pattern for knit dolls and I am obsessed with making one. It's important to me, LA, and Rae. Maybe to Prowler, too. I imagine the process, the outcome, the feel of the yarn and I cry some more. But more... I can't stop thinking about the class I started at school specifically to deal with minority issues. I am passionate about social justice. But what if I do great things at work and make a difference in someone's life and then end up in the psych ward cutting rows of shame into my arm and babbling about knit dollies? How much more damage will that do to the cause? Am I worthy or making a difference in some kid's life? And more tears come because I know I already have and it terrifies me. My boss and I we developing a plan to deal with some social justice issues at work. At the end she said "when we're done here we're going to have to write books" meaning we both had a lot to say and because of our jobs we are required to be very careful with our words. I told her when I retired I would be on the lecture circuit, speaking frankly about a lot of things. She said she would be in the audience. That makes me cry, too, and I'm tired of crying.