Sunday, August 25, 2013

On Letting Go

The assignment? Write a letter to the girl who torpedoed me last year with her SUV, to write the damn thing and burn it. The order came on Wednesday, yet here I sit, on Saturday night, the task as-yet undone. I've begun it in my head, something like this:

Dear stupid bitch who effed up my life, (not really, that magically appeared when I started typing)

A year has passed since the day you hit me, the trauma that keeps on 'giving'.

I still can't believe you rear-ended me, in my two day-old Benz, nor worse, the insane way that you did it. When I tell the story, I get a dumbfounded look, and the typical reply of:

"You what?"

Eyebrows raised in still-astonished (and disgusted) agreement, I will repeat the bizarre, "I was hit from behind while driving down the road doing the speed limit."

"YOU WERE WHAT?" unfailingly comes the screech.

Yes, really. I was driving the speed limit, minding my own business, happy and satisfied, humming. After five months of arduous searching, I was finally in the perfect car. Then you happened along, barreling down the road (with a child in your belly no less!) not looking at where your 'missile' was headed. You endangered our lives, and for what? Were you texting? Reaching for something? Digging in your purse? 

Whatever you were doing, girl, damn you. Just. Damn you. You certainly damned me.

Do you understand that what you did was careless? It was dangerous, and negligent, and all sorts of stupid. You hurt me, and likely hurt you and your unborn baby. Does your jaw and face ache so deeply that you can't eat or think? Do you hobble from hip pain? Do your hands go numb when you're driving?

Do you think about the woman (ME!) that you hurt?

A less-enlightened me would say: I hate you and wish you harm. Yet how can I despise you, without despising me? I can't and I don't, though my body still carries the pain, and the poker-hot sear of anger.

I only hope that you learned a lesson and will never again endanger another life. This is my prayer. For you. And for me. May we be healed of any and all injuries - physical, mental, emotional and spiritual - that were sustained as a result of that ill-fated whack/attack.

Finally, may this letter mark the turning point from which I/we walk forward free: of restriction and pain, anger and blame, invisibility and unimportance and any remnants left nagging or undone.

Bygones.

And so it is. It is done. Thank you, God.

I will burn this letter, yes. But not in to obscurity. In to infamy. On my blog. For the record. For prosperity. But most of all, for the healing. Mine. Hers. And anyone else's who might happen along here and need it.

Let it go, dear body. Let the bitter, venomous outrage drain away, Master psyche. Let it go. To nothingness. And beyond. Let it go. It is gone.

In place is the memory of calm. And reason. And the deep, strong will to heal.

~ Olivia J. Herrell

4 comments:

A.T. Post said...

Two thoughts:

1) Your Benz was TWO DAYS OLD?!

2) You're STILL in pain?!

Good grief, woman. No wonder this letter was penned with such obvious and vehement vitriol. Power to ya. And I hope you feel better somehow, somewhen.

Karen Walker said...

There is such power in this, Olivia. In venting how we feel in writing and releasing. That is the power of memoir and it is here in your letter. It helped me, so thank you. There are some things going on with my body I need to release. I am so sorry you are still in pain one year later from a rear-end accident that wasn't your fault.

Misha Gericke said...

Wow. So scary how people can be so careless, and how their carelessness can destroy lives.

I hope you do find emotional and physical healing.

Olivia J. Herrell said...

Andrew, I'd purchased it Used two days before the rearende. It was two-day's old for ME. As for the pain, it has been an on and off thing, mostly my right hip and neck issues. The face pain just started again last week after 8-9 months without it. It is quite excruciating and is gradually subsiding, but everytime I get stressed the pain level shoots up.

Karen, thank you. Thank you for sharing your experience, too. Together we'll get through this thing called life.

Mischa, it is, and we forget there are people out there truly suffering from even more than what I have dealt with. Life truly is not for the faint of heart, is it?

~ Olivia J Herrell

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