When Malificent Learned to Heal

She tried to fuck the pain away. The girl, now a woman, feels like she’s still 19…and tried everything to get over him. She tried to forget the pain away.

He left. He left her, as Bob Dylan sings, “standing at the doorway crying”. He was the love of her life, and now he was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing she could do to stop him from being with her. That woman. That whore.

He told everyone that SHE wanted him to go away, and when he left, all her friends fell by the wayside too. She had no one. So she tried to forget the pain away. She just wanted all of the pain to go away. It was too much to hold, too much sadness. Her entire world had collapsed. Here she was, June Cleaver, when suddenly her world collides with Malificent. With Gloria Steinem. What’s a good girl to do? June Cleaver got a divorce and she started growing indigo wings and curved horns on her head, she….was becoming a dark goddess with a soul black as night.

So he was gone, and she tried to fuck the pain away. After so many years of mediocre sex with a passionless man, she was ready for real sex. She couldn’t believe all the attention she got from men. Men seemed to want her. She’d felt ugly and forgotten for so many years, that she scarcely remembered what it was like to feel pretty again. They wanted her, and she wanted to forget; to feel pretty again. She wanted to forget the pain away, to forget the memories of feeling neglected by him, to forget the memory of what his skin smelled like, and what it felt like to kiss his neck. So she tried to fuck the pain away.

She tried to drink the pain away. She never drank when she belonged to him. He never allowed that. No alcohol in the house, due to his alcoholic step-father. But she tried to drink the pain away. She tried to. She had gotten a decent enough job working in Western Central New Jersey, working in an office, and made enough money to go out once in a while. She discovered a bar in South Jersey that plays live music (one of her favorite things), and so she went. And drank. And when she drank, the pain seemed to melt away, even just for a moment. And since she could afford to, she tried to drink the pain away.

She tried to wish the pain away. She was Wiccan, so she could do that sort of thing. She could light a candle and perhaps he’d come back. She’d do a come to me boy spell, and make him come back to her. He could come back to her, if only she wished hard enough. She just needed to consult her cards, and wish hard enough: a purple candle for power, blue for healing, and red for passion. There now; candles were lit. He’ll come back to me, she thought. All I have to do is wish the pain away, and the pain will leave and he will come back. The pain will leave when he comes back. It will. Just one more thing-a rose crystal-for healing true love. The Rose crystal-the crystal of soulmates, twin souls, and love. He was my soul mate. It’ll work, she says to herself as she tries to wish the pain away. She could wish. She could do it. It could happen. If I just wish hard enough, he’ll come back. He just needs a bit of time to sew his wild oats. He was a good boy all his life. He just needs time. I’ll wish it, and it will be so. It will be. It could happen. She tried. She tried to wish the pain away.

She tried to put the pain away in box. And pack it up for later. There now. It never happened. Let’s never speak of it. Never cry over it. Never think of it. It’s away. Far away, in Minnesota with the snow and the hipsters that once lived in Williamsburg. She put it away. It’s in a neat little box, next to the wedding album and pictures of the road trip to New Hampshire. She tried to put the pain away. Away, away. And every now and again, when lovers would leave, she’d take the pain out and look at it and hold it. It felt good to be angry at him. It felt good to hate him. Hate is better than love, she thought. Love makes you weak. Love makes you pathetic. Hate makes you strong. Makes you tough. Makes you powerful. Hate is powerful, and it felt better than the pain. I can be Maleficent. I AM Maleficent. I am the once beautiful fairy queen, turned into a forloned and neglected but powerful witch. I am the scorned woman, with my spells and my anger, I am made stronger. Love makes a woman pathetic, and I am anything but that. So she tried to put the pain away.

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She tried to heal the pain away. And there it went, she let it go. Finally tired of carrying the burden of hate, finally tired of carrying the load of fear, and sadness and abandonment issues, she chose to heal the pain away. And so with the aforementioned rose crystal-the stone of love-she chose to love herself. No longer would she fuck the pain away. No longer would she drink the pain away, or wish it away. She willed it away by learning one word: forgiveness. Tired. She was tired of the burden of anger and hate and bitterness.  She didn’t want to carry it anymore. She had wasted too many years, and too much of herself on him already. She was done. Done with the hate, and done with looking back longingly at the past that she only selectively recalled. So, Maleficent chose to forgive him. And though she would never forget what he did to her, and though she never would forget the pain, the pain didn’t matter anymore. The anger melted away. She healed, and her heart grew ten sizes that day-the day Maleficent learned to move on. And so, she healed the pain away.

Finally. Finally she could breathe. After two and a half years of wishing for him. After two and a half years of pushing good men away over fear that he’d come back to her. After two and a half years of abandonment issues, and insecurities and fears….she felt free. No longer did she feel the need to chase after unavailable men. She was okay, all by herself. She was okay alone. Okay being in her own space. Just her and her daughters. She was okay now. She was free. Finally. After three years, she was finally free. She could breathe again.

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