Jute’s Stories

Long ago I bound him. Chained him in the darkest recesses of my heart. Forced into an ironbound trunk in the corner of my mind and locked away his ability to rend me as he once could. Forgotten, left to languish alone in the darkness.

But every once in awhile I hear the rattle of his chains and I’m taken back to a time before his banishment.

I didn’t know his true form in the beginning. After all he bore the handsome face and charming manner of his archangel namesake. That’s the nature of demons though. They use this guise to trick you and lure you close. Their soothing words and devious ways only serve to draw you near enough to allow them to plunge their talons deep into your chest and rip out part of your still beating heart. They leave enough for it to grow again and through their deception they convince you that it was not their intent to savage you.

Michael was my demon and at first I loved him with an innocent heart. Later I gave my love desperately, always wary of when the torture would begin. He was a master at it and what makes me the angriest now when I look back upon those days is how the man I love now sometimes pays for the demon’s sins.

I was not good enough for Michael. I wasn’t pretty enough or classy enough and with sly digs and subtle hints he let me know. Chipping away at my fragile self-confidence. He kept his relationship with me hidden away as if I were somehow some dirty secret. Something about me drew him back time and again, only to once again reinforce my unworthiness.

Eventually I walked away. I gained the strength to stop the cycle and bound the destructive feelings I had for him. But the anger still lingers.

I had made a conscious decision to view him this way, his beautiful face hiding a hideous souless secret self. I did this because it gave me the strength to leave him. If I saw his human side it allowed him to pull me back to the hell that was our relationship.

But time has passed.

They say that forgiveness is good for the soul, so maybe it’s time to exorcise the demon. I’d like the scars on my heart to fade and allow the growth another has nurtured. Perhaps by forgiving him I will be able to leave behind his destructive legacy. If I continue to harbor these images of him I only perpetuate his damage.

Logically, I know that Michael was the tormented soul and every wound he placed on me was one he also bore. Knowing that he tortured himself more than he did me, leaves me stunned at the depth of his unhappiness.

Forgiving him does not mean I want him back in my life at all. It does not mean I condone what he did to me or what he likely continues to do to himself and others. It does not mean I wish in anyway to have him participate in my life. Rather than free the demon in the basement of my heart to ravage again, I exorcise him from it to free myself.

So Michael, wherever you are, I forgive your tortured soul for the damage you caused me and wish that someday you will find the way to forgive yourself.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, August 23rd, 2006 at 4:04 am and is filed under Ordinary Life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.