resentment after forgiveness

I always take a look at the life I once had before you happened.

Yes. Before you. Not the one I had with you.

At one point in my life, I thought I could never get over us. It was hard to see myself accepting a life without you in it. I didn’t want to. And even when I finally wanted to, I just couldn’t.

I had stayed way too long in the stage of bargaining and depression, making me not want to fully grieve because, unconsciously, my heart was still lingering in the stage of denial.

**Time felt so slow** and it was suffocating. Everyday, I grew more and more impatient as I saw no progress. I desparately wanted to get away from the hell you brought to me. It felt like my days, months, and years were getting wasted.

But then again, it’s been days, months, and years. Time flies so fast than I expected. The clock ticks very slow when you are trapped with your own madness, but ironically it feels fast when you realize how long you have been stuck.

Remembering that period of my life, I strangely ask myself very often, “What have I been doing?” I had been too preoccupied by the life I wish to escape that I had lost track of time in reality.

I thought the moment my love for you wears out, that indicates the end. I thought that means freedom. Because, finally, I am no longer caged inside the world I dreamt to have with you. I have finally accepted that there is no such life for us.

I thought not wanting you anymore meant acceptance — leading me the way to forgiveness. I thought there is no point in nurturing my hatred because I believed that it only came from the extreme love I once had for you.

I thought letting you go means letting go of all the good and bad memories. And I thought I can finally make peace with that. Except, I was wrong.

The longer time passes, the more I cannot move on from the life I lost. Remembering how I crumbled with you made it easier for love to fade away, yet it made my heart heavier as all feelings I had for you evolved into resentment, making it harder to let go.

And so anger seems to be the last stage of my grief, and I fear I will stay here longer than I ever did in denial and bargaining stage, prolonging my depression, and making acceptance out of reach.

I am a fool if I say I do not care anymore. Clearly, I still do, and the amount of resentment I have for you proves that. I don’t remember how it feels like to be in love with you anymore, but I remember hating you for not loving me right.

And I wish I hated you more. Because maybe that would’ve given me more self-respect, reminding me that you were not worth losing a life for.

I yearn for the version of me before you entered my life. I try to think about the time when looking at you felt so harmless. I miss not caring that we breathe the same air. I miss the feeling of knowing — or believing — that nothing can ever break me. Not even you.

I know one day, I’ll look back and say I got over it. I know that day will come. But, unfortunately, that day is not today. And I am still not over it. Because I resent you still with every ounce of my consciousness.

I hope one day, I learn to not care anymore — to finally master indifference that nothing can ever affect me again, not your downfall or redemption. I hope I learn to erase your existence in mine.

I hope we both heal from this. But selfishly, I do not wish you well.