That's easy for you to say, Confucius. You're dead.
I think I have an unrivaled ability to hold a grudge. Despite all the happy-clappy advice to the contrary, it's the natural way to be - you know what they say, the only things that continue to grow all your life are your ears, your nose, and your resentment.
Sometimes I think I ought to forgive the Beast, and move on, because it was two and a half years ago now and it's silly to hold a grudge for so long. But then sometimes I have days like today, when I;m tired at work because I was up crying at 2am, remembering how I was actually happy back then, for a while, until it was all wrenched away from me, and the ground collapsed from under my feet.
Sometimes I think I ought to forgive the Beast and move on, because it was two and a half years ago now, and it's toxic to hold a grudge for so long, but then sometimes I have days like today, when I try not to let me colleagues see that I'm crying at my desk, because flat hunting is bringing it all back, and there are flats for let on my street, in my house, even (because 25 Thicket Road, London, SE20 8DB will always be my house, on my street, and I have the keys to prove it. Dumb letting agents evicting me and not asking for the keys back. Fucking amateurs), and they're all just out of reach, because rental prices have gone up so much in two and a half years, and even though I earn more now, it isn't enough to cover the difference.
Sometimes I think I ought to forgive the Beast and move on, because it was two and a half years ago now, but sometimes I have days like today, when I remember that she never apologised, That she was given, nit just by me, but by the landlord, every opportunity to stop this from happening, but she didn't. She just left. Left all her crap, left me to receive an eviction notice, left me to pay the agency fees they think it's fair to charge you when they force you from your home, left me in fear that she was going to come back, but she never did. She just changed her phone number, blocked me on Twitter and Facebook and disappeared. Much like she did when the boiker broke and we had no heating foir a week in December and the landlord was trying to get out of fixing it, or when we were getting letters threatening to cut off our utilities, because she'd been taking my money for my half of the bills and not paying them. Just disappeared. Only this time she never came back, and I haven't seen her since.
Sometimes I think I should forgive the Beast and move on, because it was two and a half years ago now, and someone asked me, at the time, wouldn't I feel bad if I got my way and publicly humiliated her (I made brief attempts to sell the story, a magazine was interested, but only if she would acknowledge that they'd reached out to her to give a right to reply, She declined), and she killed herself? Wouldn't I feel bad? But sometimes I have days like today, when I think no, I would not feel bad. That if she hanged herself and I was the one to find her bloated corpse, swaying in the breeze, toes turning black as the blood thickened and pooled, stiff with rigor mortis, I would snap a photo to post on Twitter - hashtag LOL - before doing anything else. Because I wouldn't feel bad. I wouldn't give a flying fuck if she was mown down by a lorry tomorrow morning, If it happened after midday, I think I'd pour a drink to celebrate. Because today is just like any other day and I am holding a fucking grudge, because that is the sane, rational thing to do in this situation. And I am not going to forgive her, and I am not going to move on, and I am not going to "see her side", because there isn't one, and I am going to continue to hate people for choosing to remain her friend, because I am holding a fucking grudge, because that is the sane, rational thing to do in this situation, and your continued cordiality with the person who ruined my life is a betrayal on an even grander scale than hers, and I believe treason should still be punishable by death.
I fucking love a good grudge, me.