If you can't say something nice don't say anything at all. I really can't even tell you how many times I heard my mother say that when I was growing up. I am not certain that the phrase was specifically aimed at me or if it was being used to chastise someone elses hurtful words, but either way it was meant as a lesson to me on how people should behave. My mother would be proud to know that I took that lesson to heart.
I am not saying that I don't say hurtful or ugly things. That would be a lie and my mother hates liars, so lets just avoid going there. I am just as likely to say ugly things as the next person. I can think of several examples from last night alone.
I can say that I try and keep negative comments confined to situations that are most certainly not public. If I am calling someone a vapid cow, typically it is not to their face. Of course that makes me sound like I talk about people behind there back, and that is not really me either. Sometimes though people frustrate you to the point that you have to say mean things about them, and I try and save those moments for when I am with my more trusted confidants.
What my mother would be proud of me for is the post I have deleted at least half a dozen times now. I have this thing that is ugly, mean, bitter, and hurtful that has been bubbling away at the core of me for a long time now. Years. Recent events have pulled up this long seated ugliness and made me so want to vent it to the world.
I mean I have a blog, why not let out all my feelings on it? I have this place as an outlet I should use it. The offending parties will most likely never read it, so where is the harm. I can tell the story in all its nasty details and get it off my chest. You all might even find the story interesting and sympathetic. I would suddenly have some validation in my anger.
I tried. I tried to write it several times. I told myself I had to tell it. I had to let it go. I have told the story and shared my feelings on it with many of my friends in person, but somehow that anger is still inside. I wanted the whole world to know about these personal injustices, this thing that haunts me so.
The thing is though, that once the words were down, I didn't want to publish them. They didn't make me feel any better. All they did was dredge up all these awful memories and feelings, and make me look like an angry bitter person. Painting others in such an ill flattering light didn't make me sympathetic, it made me petty and ugly. It wasn't right.
I am not sure what is right. I am not sure there is anyway to take away the anger and bitterness I feel about this thing. I am certain that even when I think I have pushed it all aside, someday it will rear its ugly head again. When it does I will deal with it as I have always dealt with it.
For now though I am going to let it lie. I am going to take the lesson my mother instilled in me, and I am not going to say anything mean or ugly. I am going to say a lot, just not about this one thing.