Revenge is a Dish Best Not Served

celebrating the death of people who hurt us

Pain has a voice that needs us to hear. Pain appears to send us a message. We ignore the message at our peril. We respond to the perception of pain with cruelty toward others at our peril. Yes, to harm another we first harm ourselves, by violating our own conscience and breaking our moral compass. Yes, to drink the poison of vengeance and hope it hurts the other does indeed harm us. One ought not quench one’s thirst or hunger with one’s own biological waste or blood with the blood or guts of others. That’s a metaphor, work it out. I intend it to sound deliberately evocative and graphic in order to illustrate the repugnance of this Lord of the Flies behavior. It debases the self.

Over the past 7 months I have witnessed the repeated celebration of death. Cheering anyone’s demise always feels uncomfortable to me. Revenge fantasies always feel like poison when I encounter them. Sometimes the poison tastes good, like those lines of cocaine feel good for a few minutes. Or that crack rock feels good For a few seconds. The intensity demands that the individual fixate on chasing that intense feeling, it takes incredible energy expanses to maintain that energy level. It’s harmful to my physiology. Redlining isn’t good for the engine. Also, it’s ultimately harmful to me to hurt another because I am connected to that other, that is my level of existence — profoundly separate and indelibly connected.

“Finally the devil is gone … This news actually gives me a little bit of closure for myself.”

I strive to be the human being who seeks to understand and then seeks to be understood. I understand the sentiments expressed about men who did unspeakably horrific things on purpose, for cruelty-sport. I don’t understand the onlookers who farcically pretend we all must mourn men who caused unspeakable mass suffering. I think I can respect the sanctity of life and I can have mercy for victims of abusers. Both, I have a big enough heart for both. Ultimately though, when your abuser has the power to create strong emotion in you, you aren’t free from them, you remain in their bondage.

Forgive :: from the Old English forgiefen :: to give up [the desire to punish] :: from etymonline

I have always had a fascination with individuals who express feeling liberated from their burden of suffering because of their perception that someone who caused them suffering (ie the designated scapegoat) suffered and met their own demise. I don’t understand that. I don’t know how it helps, giving power over your feelings to someone who wanted to kill you, who tormented and harmed you, or who did kill your beloved. Celebrating my abuser’s demise feels like admitting I never broke free from his grip. Investing in anyone’s suffering wastes my energy and effort. It’s self indulgent. It’s embracing helplessness. It’s weak. It’s drinking poison to quench my thirst. One who desires revenge remains enslaved to his abuser. Exacting accountability through punishment differs from exacting payback through revenge. My pain isn’t relieved by the suffering of another, this isn’t a balance sheet.

My son told me once as a boy aged 9 or so, when being punished/disciplined, mama you can take all my toys away and I will still find a way to amuse myself. I felt that deeply. The lesson sunk in and has never left me.