Forgive? Forget It.

In a moment of apparent insanity, I turned on Oprah this afternoon and watched for about ten minutes. The theme today was Forgiveness. Guests included people who were able to forgive other people for murdering their families or raping them or raping them and murdering their families (a special combination deal), and other horrendous crimes that I didn’t stick around long enough to hear about.
You see, I couldn’t watch. I couldn’t understand it. And not just because I really don’t dig Oprah. What I really couldn’t get, and what I’ll never get, ever, even if I live to be 200 years old (which is my plan), is how people can forgive other people for doing absolutely unthinkable, unspeakable things to their “loved ones”.
I don’t care what the Bible says. (I don’t read it.) (I’m not really into best-sellers.) I don’t care what self-help books say. I don’t care what therapists or analysts or counselors say. Forgiving someone for something like murder or rape? No can fucking do.
“The anger was eating me up inside,” one woman said (paraphrased). “I had to forgive the man who shot my son in the heart. When I met his murderer face to face, I realized that he was hurting inside, and I had a lot of compassion for him. I forgave him. If I didn’t, I couldn’t live with myself.”
Sorry, but that kind of crap doesn’t work for me. That sort of acceptance doesn’t cut it. That sort of understanding and compassion has no place anywhere within me.
Fucking hurt someone I care about and I hate you for life. I may not dwell on it every day, I may not think about it every day, but I will never forget it. And I most certainly will never forgive.
Forgiveness, to me (note how I said to me, so please don’t write to me and tell me I am “wrong”) means forgetting. And I don’t like to forget.
Fuck that stuff about not being able to live with yourself if you don’t forgive. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.
Note: For a little relief, see this entry, from one year ago today.