Today I am wallowing in sadness and regret. Recently, I decided it's time to walk back toward the darkest time of my life and survey the damage. I imagine it like the first time you walk back into your home after a fire. Your whole life, everything you had worked for up to that point, sitting blackened, charred, almost unrecognizable. In fact, you wouldn't believe it was your life except that you remember the heat of the fire and the scream of the sirens as you crumbled under the realization that you have ruined almost everything that ever meant anything to you. And although you're not ungrateful, you know how lucky you are to have your people, your "health," and a future to rebuild, you feel as though you've lost everything.
I'm stuck between feeling completely and absolutely responsible for the wasteland that is my current state of affairs and feeling like it's just not fair that I suffer this. I was good at what I did until my brain decided to scramble, create things that did not exist, and refuse to let me continue to participate in my own life. That doesn't seem fair. On the other hand, I can't shake the responsibility for the hurt I caused, albeit unintentionally.
There are so many small decisions I want to undo today. There are so many times I want to go back and ask for help when I didn't. There are so many times I meant to help when I hurt. But I think what is most devastating is that I don't really get the opportunity to go back and undo. I hardly get the chance to even provide an explanation. Those who love me understand and those who I'd like to offer one to have already made up their minds.
It sucks pretty bad to be broken. I knew that. Sadly, having it reflected in the mirror, when you were hoping that maybe your version of things was exaggerated, is brutal.
Hi – it’s me again. I don’t know why I feel compelled to respond to your posts; I just do. Perhaps it’s due to the eerie similarities we share? Perhaps (and I think this is it) it helps me to sort out my own head, via thinking through your circumstances. Today I find myself thinking back to the days in school, to everything I aspired to be, everything I wanted, what an interesting time. I, too, was pretty good at what I did; and I reveled in it. God, I miss it.
ReplyDeleteWhile I am writing this, I am sitting in my cube in the bottom of a build in St. Paul thinking, what the eff happened to get me here? The short answer is addiction. The long answer, is, well, long. I have enough shame, guilt, regret and resentments for 20 lifetimes. At this point I am uncertain if I’ll be able to rebuild the career I was so good at destroying. The thought of it makes me sick. UGH!!!
OK, step back. Perspective is what I need. Life is a fickle bitch; I mustn’t forget. Is it possible that I can use the past? I don’t mean anything like “learning from my mistakes”, or any other BS clichés; but learn something about … me? It’s hard, you know - taking my lumps; I have given my past it’s pound of flesh. But, here’s the thing, that which I cannot get past. My past still haunts me through people trying to “rehabilitate” me that have no idea of what hopelessness and powerlessness actually is. They want two pounds, three, four … all justified through the lens of helping and safeguarding the public.
So, the million dollar question(s). Will I get past what I think of “those” people? Will I do what’s asked of me? Will I ________?
Yup, I will. Mostly out of a selfish desire to get back what I had. If that’s even possible. But maybe through all this I can do the one thing, take one look at me without disgust. Perhaps I have to sift through what was to put it away … forever.
Your drunken friend.
--thanks for letting me rant