Betrayal: The Veil’s Purpose

It’s in betrayal and betrayal only, that everything I am, everything I’ve worked to become, and in every way I’ve grown ceases to matter, or in some cases, exist.

When the veil, the one that separates the truth from the image and the past from the present, is broken, it splits in two, and the world suddenly has access to something no one was ever meant to. Something so frightening, so deeply decadent, so void of hope and light, no man may enter through its gates. No man will be seen singing praises of a woman’s beauty, gentleness or love. The broken veil peels back every layer of comfort, hope, sanity, logic, reason, healing, and peace from my heart; It reveals what were once scars, but are now massive wounds of infected flesh, a darkness with a fist, and reigning chaos. The vision, once observed, is the kind that stays in the back of your head for eternity, the image you can’t quite shake from behind your eyelids while lying in bed at night. It is the sense of dread you spend your whole life running from. From this view, it would appear that my heart isn’t capable of love, or perhaps, loved itself to shreds.

Betrayal is familiar to me more so than anything else. I can spot a deceptive lover years before they even commit the act, and still, even with my trained eyes, the shock is subsonic every time. It never ends, that collapsing feeling. The first time I was betrayed by a man was the first time I knew with all my heart that I had a soul. I could feel her, or it, inside me, falling through every layer of expectation, every fluffy floor of preconception, ideal and imagination, and finally, crashing onto the floor boards of reality like a train smacking against the first explosion of a five-stage bomb.

Betrayal is one of those things I’m not afraid to be overly dramatic with. It’s one of the few topics I don’t think can be exaggerated, because if you’ve ever felt the piercing and simultaneously hallowing effects of it, you know there are no words for it. You know there are no standards capable of measuring it. The only thing that sharpens or dulls the pain is the measure by which you loved that person, and we don’t get to choose how much we love them at the time they betray us, we don’t get to choose which of our loved ones or mere acquaintances deliver the blows.

If received in large increments over a short period of time, it does get easier to handle. Sometimes it takes less time to recover from, if you’re conditioned to it. But there’s no glory in being able to stand it, because oftentimes, the more you can stand it, the less you have of yourself to give.

I tell you this, I was once a great city, but a tsunami’s waves soon took everything from my every coast, mountain and valley, leaving nothing, not a trace of civilization in its aftermath. Betrayal either takes from you or gives you something no one wants and no one deserves and no one can bear. Only God can heal these wounds in the appointed time. I will, like Abraham, hope against hope, that I may, someday soon, be able by God and permitted by myself, to trust again.


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