I recently bought a car for my two teenagers. Nothing fancy. Just a solid and safe car for them to use with all the back and forth of being children of divorced parents who have places to be and things to do when said parents are at work. They were very excited (and appreciative) about it and it will make everybody’s life a little less hectic to get to school, activities, jobs and such.
I was talking to my best friend about getting the car and she told me how she had scrimped and saved to buy her first car back in the mid 90’s, a brand new green Jeep with a tan top. One night, her car was broken into. The radio was taken. The gear shift was torn off. The mounted speaker bar was pulled down and the speakers were destroyed. The plastic windows were cut and the buttons were pulled off the dash. So instead of just taking the radio, whoever did this decided to destroy her perfect new car.
Thinking about that gave me great pause. My bestie’s Jeep? That’s me. I am the Jeep. Before any abuse began, James could have just said, “You know what, Jenny, this isn’t going to work out.” He could have simply broken my heart. Because guess what? I can fix that. I’ve had my heart broken enough to know that it hurts, sometimes a lot, but it heals.
The things he took from me? My sense of self-worth, my safety, my confidence, my ability to say no in many situations and my feeling like I was good enough to be loved. All the while keeping me off kilter, making me doubt my sanity and leaving me a shell of the person I was? It’s like he took my inner core. The very Jenny of my Jenny-ness. What was the point of that? It was senseless, heartless and completely unnecessary.
How many souls does James need to eviscerate before he realizes he is repeating the same disordered story over and over? And to what end? Forget James Dean, this James is the real Rebel Without a Cause. For as highly educated as he is, how can he not see how pointless this all is? Or want to make some type of amends in acknowledgement of the cruelty that he inflicted?
James? YOU ARE NOT THE VICTIM! You are the perpetrator. At some point in your younger life, yes, you were likely a victim. I truly do not believe you were born this way. But that does not give you the right to continue to leave destruction wherever you go. You cannot keep searching for people like me to fill your empty bucket. You cannot handle (and I would say you actually despise) any kindness, sincerity or genuine love. And that part is okay and understandable. But what isn’t okay is the path you take where the minute you are offered those things, you begin to destroy the very person who loves and cares about you the most. Just take the radio, James. Leave the rest alone.