Soulmate, Checkmate.

The person I so lovingly referred to as my “soul mate” turned out not to be. Maybe assigning such heavily meaningful labels to people isn’t the best idea; the term “soul mate” implies certain unrealistic expectations.

The scariest and most uncertain part of my childhood was spent without anyone who I could relate to or find comfort in, so when I finally did receive what I had so often prayed for growing up, someone who I could call “sister”, I think I unconsciously clung on like a child would, even into adulthood.

All the fond memories I had have become twisted and mangled. All I see now is the ugliness that was always there that I chose not to look at before. I tend to expend a lot of energy and focus on analyzing things, people, and relationships. I didn’t do that with her, without realizing it I actually did the opposite of what was always typical for me. I spent more energy and focus trying to ignore red flags and preserve this idealistic picture of us, because I guess I needed that. I fiercely protected the image I had of her, as my sister, who would always be there, who I was most comfortable and happiest with, more so than anyone else in my life. As a result, I’m in uncharted territory now. I’m usually not surprised by things like this because I tend to feel like I sort of saw it coming, or at least had vague feelings of tension rising, but I didn’t with her. All of what I’m noticing now feels so much like new information being revealed to me, as if I wasn’t present for it. My own mind is offering to show me things I had been hiding from myself. It’s really fucking weird and unsettling, so much that it’s been difficult to sleep at night.

In clarified retrospect, I don’t think she was ever actually truly listening to me. I was listening, but judging everything. Every shockingly childish or blatantly superficial desire or feeling she expressed to me was met with scolding or instruction for how to be better, rather than the compassionate and understanding ear she probably needed. Instead of verbalizing her contempt for me, I think it was easier for her to just tune me out.

How did I not see that dark cloud of resentment that was hovering right above her head for so much of our lives? It was right there the whole time. When she would get drunk it would step into the light in the form of her lashing out at me as hard as she could. When something I said made her angry and she called me a cunt out of nowhere. When she told me I was just like my mom. Stuff like that. I didn’t understand why she would get so angry at me over such little things but instead of trying to figure it out, I always wrote it off as meaningless because she had been drinking. It’s easy to see now that all of it obviously came from a real place, I just didn’t want to accept that that was how she really felt about me. Then, when she discovered that her boyfriend had been sexually harassing me, she chose to stay with him and cut me out of her life. She blames me for it. Now I’m realizing that I shouldn’t be surprised by that; it was a long time coming and it would’ve happened one way or another.

So now I’m trying to figure out how to resolve the combination of rage and sadness I experience every time I think of her, which lately is so often that it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. I haven’t reacted, and it seems like if I do react, by confronting her, I’ll lose the “power” I’ve achieved by staying stoic and silent. All I can do is accept things as they are, but I don’t want to. I want her to know that I think she’s a cunt too, or that I’m sorry, or that she should be sorry, or all of the above. I’m stuck. Checkmate.

 

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