As pieces of my memory slowly began to emerge, I would have sort of flashback moments remembering my craziness. Times when I acted out of control or said really hurtful things to people, just to feel better about myself (the very definition of a bully).
I know my full memory will probably never return.
It’s been over ten years and there are still pictures of my kids in our house that I don’t remember taking or being there when they were taken. D swears we owned two vehicles that I drove on a regular basis that I don’t ever remember even seeing. Funny stories that start with “remember that time?” are lost to me … met with blank stares and often tears of frustration.
There are a lot of times I do remember that I wish I could forget. Like the times we would go out to eat and I would treat the waitress like garbage. The plates and silverware were never clean enough to my liking. There was always something wrong with the food … something wrong with the service … the temperature of the room … the people next to us. Eventually, almost always, demanding to see the manager so I could barter for something free in exchange for the slight I received that never really happened. No wonder D just preferred we just stay home.
There are times though when I can remember my horrific behavior and can compare it to how I react to things now, the real me way. Not the old, crazy me way.
We went to a Christmas parade. We didn’t really plan on it. We just happened to be parked on a main street, went into an antiques store for a little while and walked out to discover a parade going by and our car stuck while it passed. After watching for a few minutes, D turned to me and said “you know … the old you would have caused a scene about this”.
He was right. I would have demanded they stop the parade so we could move our car. It’s sad, but oh so true. I spent a lot of years demanding things just that crazy … never understanding why people didn’t do as I barked or barking even louder so they would.
The old me would have thrown a screaming fit when the lady at Braum’s was kind of shitty about not giving me ketchup. She swore she put it in the bag. It wasn’t in the bag. I asked nicely. She didn’t respond nicely. I just smiled and drove off.
When my friends and I disagree about politics now, we’re able to have a civil adult conversation. The old me screamed at them about how wrong they were, how their candidate was a non-Christian moron and called them idiots for believing the way they did. It’s a miracle I still have friends.
So maybe I don’t want to forget the bad times. Maybe they serve as a reminder of how far I’ve come and how much I don’t miss the old me. I’m pretty sure nobody does.
This post is why you HAVE to say “no” to the people who act like I used to
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