My mother told me, when I was small, that if I couldn't say nice, then don't say anything at all. That's more or less why I haven't written on here. After the post on betrayal, I was so angry, so hurt, and for the first time in 5 years I let that out. Previously, I have had a small child, and I have slapped that brave face on and stiffened my upper lip and been a good but muffled mummy.
This time I chose not to. I looked at my now 11yr old son, and I kept my anger and disappointment away from him, but I allowed myself time to explore my feelings, and to explore what I needed to do.
I had to do it.
If I didn't do it, then it was going to fester forever, like the canker pus filled worm that upset me in the first place. (Yes, I am not all the way through this anger yet. But the fact I can apply Shakespearean insults instead of just swearing is progress!)
A few examples of my favourites.....
Shakespeare Insult 13 – Henry IV Part 1
“That trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey Iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years?”
Shakespeare Insult 14 – Henry IV Part 1
“You starvelling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish–O for breath to utter what is like thee!-you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck!”
I do know it's childish, but why should I only allow myself to feel grief and anger and happiness and love? I have to let this out. I've waited long enough.
