The Blog of auroraborealis

In my last blog entry I outlined a problem that I had on my last job, something that really hurt me, but that's not the real problem.   I put my all into that job because I was running from something, something deeper, something darker.

I am a gentle soul, slow to anger, quick to forgive.   I try to show compassion and take care of those around me.   

Have you ever known someone who is evil?    Complete and total evil?   He was a narcissist--completely, utterly and totally wrapped up in his own needs.   He had absolutely, and I mean ABSOLUTELY no capacity to understand anyone else's needs on any level--none--at all--and I mean NOT AT ALL.   (This guy is actually not the stalker I had spoken of before--him I can forgive, this guy I can't!)  He had me trapped and I couldn't get away from him.   He was why I went into the hospital for the first time--he put me there.   And once I was in he called to continue to torment me.   I was in the psych ward, I thought I was safe, I thought he couldn't get to me, but I was wrong--he got through on the phone.   I was a mess.   I was on the floor sobbing so hard I was throwing up--they had to sedate me.   After that they blocked all phone calls and visitors--I was finally safe.    When I told him to stay away from me and not contact me for any reason, ever, in his mind it wasn't because he had done anything wrong, it was because I was a c*nt--pure and simple, I was just a worthless f*cked up c*nt.    What he did to put me in the hospital was unforgivable, completely, totally and utterly unforgivable.    But that's not what I'm running from.

I have this recurring fantasy.   He comes to me and tells me he's dying and he is so sorry for what he's done.    He comes seeking forgiveness because he wants to make it right before he dies.   I stare him straight in the eye and I tell him I'm glad he's dying, that the world is so much better off without him.   I tell him that I hope that his death is slow and painful and that he has all of his faculties until the end so that he dosn't miss a moment of suffering.   I tell him that there is no way that I will forgive him and that my only prayer for him is that there is a hell so that his suffering won't end with death but will last for all eternity.   I know that he wouldn't be asking forgiveness because he really cared about me, only because it would put his own mind at ease, but it would feel so good to imagine that maybe he did actually care one teeny, tiny, einsy, binsy bit and that I could make that part of him hurt--that if there is even one tiny fragment of humanity in him that I could inflict pain on it.   That I could extinguish any hope, any tiny bit of happiness or comfort that he could experience in his last days and hours--that would feel good.   It would feel really, really good.   It would feel better than anything has felt in a very, very long time.    And I would not regret it.   I wouldn't regret it one little bit--as a matter of fact, just the opposite, I would celebrate it as a victory.   And that scares the hell out of me.     I have no capacity to forgive him and that says a lot more about me than it does about him.