Love, Novela [Completed]

12/09/17

12/09/17

Pastora has been alternately sitting with me and leaving me to my thoughts. She doesn't pry or ask invasive questions, but somehow seems to invite confessions. I didn't know - or forgot - that she has a psychology background as well. It seemed like even things I didn't say, she was able to guess. It made it even easier to talk to her, since she knew things anyway.

She told me it was OK to  grieve for Alejandro. At first I thought that was kind of a no-brainer. But then I realized - what she knew - that I was holding myself back. I was using his death to torment myself, because I believed I deserved punishment, more punishment than I had received already. But I wasn't actually allowing myself to just feel sad that he had died. And I had loved him.

This was a big enough revelation in itself. But she also told me it was OK to be angry with him. For taking advantage of me, as his student, to have a romantic relationship. For pushing me, as a virgin, to do things I wasn't ready for. And for tempting me, as a Christian, to do things I didn't agree with. He knew these things about me, was older and more experienced, and he was in a position of authority that should have made him protect me - emotionally, as well as physically.

On some level, I knew these things. I was aware of them all along. But now, especially, I wasn't allowing myself to think them. First, because he was dead, so it didn't matter anymore. And second, because he was dead, so it seemed disrespectful. Or something. You can't be mad at someone who is dead, can you?

Well, Pastora says you can. Him being killed doesn't erase what he did, or its effect on me. It doesn't diminish my responsibility  - she was clear about that - but neither does it mean I assume all responsibility, which is what I was trying to do.

Being mad at Alejandro, not just for being gone but for everything leading up to it - felt good. Being sad, on the other hand, felt kind of crappy at first. It was that emotion I'd been holding back, that I didn't actually want to feel. I knew it would be a slippery slope. I didn't want people to hear me cry. But then, at this point, worrying what people thought of me was the least of my concerns.

I cried. A lot. And I yelled a little. And I was silent. I allowed myself to remember some of our happy times together, without the tinge of bitterness this time. Just the sadness that they will never be repeated.

And the things I am angry about, as well. The times he pushed me. The way he manipulated me. He knew what he was doing; he had to. And of course, he knew he was married the whole time. He didn't tell me, then he told me a half-truth, and finally he tried to paint the truth in a better light than it really was. All to get what he wanted. Granted, it was flattering that what he wanted was me. But his love for me, if it was that, was self-interested. He didn't want what was best for me, he wanted what he thought was best for him. And because of that, we both suffered. Emily suffered. So many people have suffered.

And now I will have to suffer a bit more, when I go home and tell the truth about my semester abroad (including the part that wasn't abroad).