Theme: THE GRUDGE

5.05.2021

I don’t remember much.

In general.

Sometimes people tell me of memories they have involving me, and I can honestly say that I cannot remember any of it.

It’s like they’re talking about a different person.

Even the characteristics they describe does not seem a situation I would find myself in.

It’s the oddest thing.

But …

If someone crosses me, once, I don’t forget.

Then I have an elephant’s memory.

And I’ll hold it against them.

Forever.

As a tidy grudge.

It’s archived in a safe deposit box at the Grudge Bank.

Like a currency.

I don’t carry that sort of cash.

But if I even have the faintest whiff of any bullshit or reprimands from that individual, against my person, then I get it out.

As a weapon.

Zero tolerance.

Zero respect.

No patience.

I am usually a very patient girl.

I always try to see the other’s view point.

Have empathy.

Keep peace.

However, when they fail to see mine and instead explode in my face, I will keep them at arms length.

From then onward.

This morning I realised that it might not be such a good idea.

To hold grudges.

Because I deposit the grudges.

They are never gone but always there.

Deep down in the vault.

I realise that the Bank of Grudges is not somewhere in Switzerland, but with me.

My vault.

Which unfortunately means that I catch myself secretly going there and opening them and guilty pleasure grudging.

It’s like going to the fridge at night.

You know it‘s not good for you but you do it anyway.

The question is:

What do I need a grudge for?

To hold against a person in case they trespass again?

As a weapon?

A warning system?

Revenge?

I guess so.

When someone royally pisses me off, I just want them out of my life.

With a kick.

Even a little one.

And be done.

But by holding even the smallest grudge against them, I’m holding them.

And I’m staying.

Not moving on but staying in that relationship.

Even if I haven’t seen them for decades, my mind occasionally wanders to the fridge at night.

By doing that, I’m staying in that reality.

And it’s also only me who is doing that.

Most assholes completely and conveniently forget what happened.

They moved on ages ago.

So if I actually bring out my grudge against them, they won’t even recognise it.

Therefore the whole operation is completely pointless.

Unnecessary baggage.

But instead I keep them with me.

Stay in a hate relationship.

It’s funny.

There is a German word for holding grudges, which is being ‘nachtragend’.

It literally means to carry something after someone.

They walked away and I still run after them.

With my grudge package.

It’s my package.

Mine alone.

And I’m the one carrying it.

People see things from different viewpoints, depending where they’re standing.

I perceive something as a big deal.

They don’t.

And vice versa.

Same something, different view point?

What if it’s actually not the same thing at all?

Like me scratching my head at memories friends glgsve about encounters they had with me which were poignant to them but I truly have no recollection about it.

Different things.

To different people.

Curious.

It’s a labelling thing.

Every day we have multiple experiences.

Multiple as in a lot.

And we constantly label them.

Keep or Bin.

And according to those labels we archive for future reference.

Or throw out the window.

These labels are devised according to personal preferences.

According to beliefs.

Points of view.

Like when you stand on a mountain top, you’re not concerned with the valley.

And when you’re in the valley, you are not immediately concerned what’s happening at the top.

(Unless there is an avalanche)

So what is it about a grudge?

I guess for me there is the hope of a sweet moment of revenge.

A little bomb.

A hand grenade.

Because they used their grudge on me when they exploded in my face.

And caught me off guard.

But what I realise is that they simply handed me their grenade.

And I took it.

Kept it safe.

Hold it for them.

For a chance to throw it back at them.

Running after them.

With the grenade in my hand.

Saying “Look, mf, this is yours!”

But they don’t recognise it.

But I do because I harbour an emotional scar.

By being caught off guard.

By holding grudges, I lick my wound.

Picking at it.

Not letting it fully heal.

So I decided this morning to sort out the safe deposit box in my grudge vault.

And to let shit go.

To move on.

Because we also know that revenge is never truly satisfying.

It is only sweet when recognised by the other.

You want them to acknowledge their ‘wrong doing’ towards you.

But they never will.

It’s not their job.

Not their grudge anymore.

They passed it on.

They have done the right thing.

They let go of me.

Now I have to also let go of them.

And leave.

Physically if need be.

But mentally first and foremost.

It’s breakfast time and I will have to go upstairs and face my parents.

I haven’t spoken to them since yesterday afternoon.

Stewing the grudge.

Time to let go.

Knowing that none of it matters.

And that the timing is right.

To plan my escape.