I don’t get it. There are more eloquent ways of putting it. But that eloquence would be wasted on you. I just don’t get it.
How can you look into the face of that angelic child and hurt them? Where does the anger that allows for that kind of evil come from? How long must it have been bubbling in there? How black and charred and inside out your everything must be. I don’t get it.
Do you not have a voice inside your head that tells you that it is wrong? Do you not have that moment right before, right during, right after where the neuron fires and yells “STOP!”? How do you let it go on so long? How do you do it over and over again? How do you not see how you’ve hurt the child? How do you not cry for their pain?
They are your own. They are part of you. They trust you and look to you. You taught them to do that. You taught them to trust you by being their parent. And then you hurt them. You persisted. You hurt and hurt and hurt them. And they still hurt today whether you are there or not. They will hurt forever in one way or another because of you.
I don’t get it.
I have done wrong. I have hurt my children. I have made mistakes. I have looked into their angelic faces and I have apologized. I have hugged the pain away. I have cried night after night after night. I work every day of my life to make it right. But I never hurt them on purpose. I never looked at them and took an action that I knew would harm them. I never could. I never could. I NEVER could. How could you? I don’t understand. I don’t get it.
Maybe you do not have those neurons. Maybe they do not fire. Maybe you do not know the ways in which you hurt the child. How could you not?
Maybe you do know. Maybe you were hurt. Maybe you believe the hurting is part of life. Maybe you believe it is necessary.
Maybe you are a sociopath. Maybe you need to hurt others. Maybe you have hurt everyone you’ve ever known. On purpose. In some way. Maybe your friends are victims and your victims are friends. Maybe you have no sense of morality.
Maybe you are vengeful. The mother or father has angered you. Your mother has angered you. Your father slighted you. Maybe it is revenge on a person which you have control that is more defenseless, more safe. Maybe the world can’t be controlled, but that angelic child can.
I ponder the pathology. I sit and think of it in traffic and in the bath. I turn it over and over when things get quiet. I seek to fix it. I seek to correct you. I seek to stop that child’s pain. I hope that it gives you pain and I seek to stop yours, too. Maybe ceasing your pain will stop you.
I want to be vengeful and angry. I curse you and fantasize about what gruesome acts could be performed to give you “what you deserve.” I want to harm you myself. I want to line you in a firing squad or place you in a dark room so that those acts could be handed down to you. I want you to hurt. But it will not help the child. The child will hurt more. More because the child loved you and trusted you and looked to you. More because the child wants you not to hurt. No matter how much you hurt them. The child is not vengeful and so should I not be.
But I don’t get it. I almost hope I never do get it.
So, Jerk, I hope that hell finds you when it is your time and whatever fate befalls you will surely be meant to be. Until then, I will protect that child with my everything.
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