Published in “Style Sonata” on October 27, 2017
On “Betrayal and Resurrection”
You look in the mirror and you can almost see the spot. Somewhere floating between your heart and your gut. That is where betrayal lodges once you realize the rug had been pulled out from under you, the wool was pulled over your eyes, the sap was you.
Gaslighted, garroted, gashed, guillotined. They did that to you. In big public ways served hot, in small secret ways served cold. You gave trust, you shared your heart, brainstormed your ideas, outlined your dreams. Then their boot came smashing down on your neck and cut off your air.
Betrayal. It may be the worst thing done to us, since we are almost always partners in it. Especially when we betray ourselves.
I’m not going to do that again, Lord. I promise. Fool me once, shame on you etc. So, we pick up the crumbs, since there really are no pieces to put back together. We look for a balm not yet invented and have only the blame. We realize it’s not us at the same time it is us.
Betrayal. Every hurt has its own story, and so does each resurrection. That is what it takes. Resurrection. The trust has been trampled, the love let go, the believe-in-me battered, the sharing shattered, the kisses cold. This all hurts because almost always it is deliberate; a harsh reality that scorns what we believed was real, what we hoped was true.
Yes, the resurrection. Soon the scab hardens, the wound acquires a badge of honor. Like dealing with death, you will go through stages of recovery. Your smile returns but your tongue is a little tougher. You learn to compute trust more accurately, not as a romantic, poetic bond but a more clinical, realistic joining — much like an evaluation of glues in a hardware store. You become more careful and thus more liberated. Just like a good war correspondent.
Betrayal. It hurts the most. It’s going to happen, most likely many times more than once. You can forgive them and yourself, you cannot forget. One day you will get your walk back. Trust me.
