The Resentment Builds

3/2/2016 by Tama Poore

With time it ebbs and flows. The harder the day the more enraged I feel. And the resentment spews from my mouth on deepened lines of anger and a growing hatred for those who do not care.

It matters not that a salty tear breaks free from my eyelashes, and blurs the makeup I tried so delicately to apply this morning. It matters not that before the tear slipped free I was biting my lower lip between my teeth trying desperately to keep it all inside. It matters none that my body shakes internally, that my knees are trembling and my stomach threatens to send me racing to the nearest restroom.

All that matters is that they look at me blankly without fully absorbing my state of mind, my state of being. Some will say anything to shut me up. Patting my back, or holding me around the shoulders. Saying things like, “It will be okay. If there is anything I can do.” Yet that’s the last I will hear from them.

Truth is. They really can’t do anything to help, nor do they give a damn. Truth is, seeing someone cry makes anyone feel uncomfortable. Truth is they just want to get past this moment. And get past me.

I am not alone. Millions suffer our hearts coarse and our resentment building.

Throughout life we bottle it all up inside. Never truly allowed to complain. We hear things like, “Don’t let anyone see you down. Crying is for wimps. Life isn’t going to be easy. Fighting is for fools.” What does a damaged person do? You’re damned whatever you do, because if you give in to the pain you are weak, if your fight for the cause you are an idiot, or a drama queen.

Some pains aren’t mental, they truly are physical. Other pains reside at the deepest level of our core. Yet we constantly hear, “Oh, but, you’re not sick. It’s all in your head.” Yet we are supposed to see that poor ole “so and so, they are sick. They have struggles.” We need to do something for them.” And I want to. Truly, I want to help, but how can I help anyone when I am so far from being healed? When I am so mentally and physically wounded that I weep daily?

Most don’t realize how bad I ache, every muscle and fiber which makes my being is ignited with pain after I have kept it all inside for too long, but who has ever recognized this? And who shares these symptoms? How can I know, when they also keep it bottled up inside.

When you step back and look at those around you, it is a sad realization that few really care, that even fewer ever check and see if anything is wrong. There is a lot wrong, dear friend or foe. More than I can bear at times.  For me personally, each day of my life I struggle with the loss of my family life and my children who stay with their father. Do you really think I like this situation? Do you really think I want it to be like this? Yet life rolls on, and one day is harder than the next, or one day is a little better, but the pain is always inside, feeding and thriving off of the trials that life throws our way. Because life presents constant challenges.

You may ask, have you ever helped a friend or family member, have you checked on anyone? Oh, yes, so many times I have. I have also jumped through hoops. I have held my tongue to prevent hurting someone’s feelings. I have spent money I didn’t have at times to please someone else even though it strapped me financially, and rendered me in the negative in my bank account. I have called or texted or in some cases visited the ones I am concerned about. But who really cared? Who even remembers?

Not a damn soul.

And this is what has left me hardened and jaded to the point that I don’t want you to ask about me anymore, I don’t want you to give me your sympathy anymore, its 5 years too damn late!

What I wish you understood, and wish all of you knew is that my illnesses are as important as yours. My aches and pains hurt as much as yours. My financial burdens are as troublesome as yours.  And I have heard about yours. I have listened and have vented with you and shared with you and tried to offer suggestions. Did you not hear them? Or is my voice like the neighbor’s dog, drowned out by the mere repetitiveness of hearing it too much! Or do you just wish for me to listen, and not offer advice? What do you want?

The resentment builds. Mine has reached a level never attained before.

Yours may have already burst, or it may be building as we strive to survive in a cold, selfish, callused world.

Let me ask: What would you want me to do to help you?

If you ask me, what I would want, is for you to listen, and understand, and make time for me. In some small way, make a little time for me. And also, say something positive. Above all, say something uplifting. Not generic. Or lame. Say something genuine.

But it may be a little too late. Maybe it isn’t. In my torn mind and heart I can’t predict how your concern will make me feel, yet I feel a glimmer of hope that if your concern is real, that it will help me rebuild faith and restore clarity.

The resentment builds. And there are millions of others who struggle, too. We have all forgotten what it takes to make a difference in someone’s lives. Because we have become too impaired to care.

The End