I spent the weekend worrying about a stranger. As a writer for a self-help book about moving on from your (cheating) ex, I got that kind of message pretty consistently: random strangers messaging me of their woes, looking for comforting words and encouragement. It's part of the trade.
This particular one was different. Her condition reminds me a lot of my own. Emotionally abusive husband, leaving her home to be with her husband far away, having to adapt to a completely different environment, friendless and based on what she told me, loveless.
I immediately went into full gear. I contacted friends I know who might know support groups and churches (She's a Christian) that can help her. I talked lengthily to friends that know a bit or two about the law, on how to stop the husband from abusing her. I was desperate and in complete panic mode.
I know I can't help her. I can tell her I am here for her, but it is up to her to believe me and not chalking me as having a bad intention or having a secret agenda. [That's what my ex-husband told me if I said someone wants to help me, that they are trying to milk me for something.]
I know I can give her as many resources lead I can, but in the end, it is up to her to follow that lead, to break free from the abuse. And it is not easy. I have been there. It is so devastating to realize that it was never Love, that I turn a blind eye and pretend I did not see the obvious.
I know I can't do anything. Even if I know her personally, I still can't make the choice of safety for her. I don't know her at all, so all I can do is stand on the sideline, fervently praying she'll be alright. I'm down on my knees begging God to help her and show her the way out, along with the courage she needs.
It's only this morning the sad reality dawned on me. I wasn't trying to help her. I was trying to help the past me. Of course I want her to be safe, and I will be worried and help her still. But the reason I was so frantic about it was because I want to save myself. The past me who has to endure all that.
And I can't. I can't save her. She is long gone.
The questions always loomed. Why did it happen to me? Why did people let it happen to me? Is there any justice in this world? Is there any mercy in this world? Why did I do to deserve this? Why is there no punishment for him? There was no intervention, no help. Why?
What hurts me most from the whole experience was not the realization that he never loved me. What hurts me the most is the realization that people can choose to not care, can choose to look the other way. And they did. So I promise myself I won't.
The current me is someone strong enough to defend herself. But even I can't defend the shadow of my past. She is long gone. Like a Mecha in a Japanese comic book, pieces of her are upgraded into stronger, better material, with only her heart remaining intact. And that's how I should remember myself.
I did my best to help myself back then, and goddamn I did good with my ill-equipped self. He shouldn't have abused me and people shouldn't have looked the other way, but it happened. I love myself now. I think she is an amazing woman. I think she really should lay her past to rest once and for all.
The world doesn't owe me anything except humanity and empathy. My abuser doesn't owe me anything except self-restraint. But I, I owe myself some peace. I did well. I did really well. I did my best and I should be proud of myself.
Rest well, tearful soul. You are beyond pain right now. Your new life is a life of songs and dances, a life of night lights and sun rays. Your days are full of embraces and kisses and laughter, walking in the path of light and surrounded by love. Rest well, lovely soul. Rest well and enjoy your afterlife. You deserve this.
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