That rear view mirror, I’m realizing – is where I’ve spent a majority of my life. Always staring back at another door closed. Whether it was slammed shut, nicely closed, left half open for torment (by noones fault but my own) or I was forced through it…that mirror is where I’ve spent the last few years of my life. Trying to figure how to edit the picture because I’ve hated so many details of it.
I’d become to resent the good just as much as the bad -because the good was a reminder of where I wasn’t anymore. And a constant threat that I may never achieve it again, and there are still plenty of days that fear creeps in. I hated how intense the bad parts were, and the overflow effects of them. Every part of my life suffered in some degree from the lack of control over the deeply engrained sadness and anger. Every picture triggered a memory. A memory of when Josie was still here, what my weight was, what my dreams and aspirations at that time consisted of, a reminder of what I had lost. After my daughter was born was one of the few times I remember feeling fully content in every aspect of my life. But, as with everything in life, that faded with time as well, as different aspects began to unravel.
To look back at that blurred picture of my past there were 2 massive gashes that split my world in 2. The first driven by sadness and guilt, it’s as if they’re chapters labeled ‘pre-Josie and post-Josie’ and the second driven my anger and shame, or the ‘pre and post-divorce.’ It’s as if they were historic “Eras” in my life that set the stage for what was to come. From then on out almost everything was replayed on a daily basis, constantly wondering where I went wrong in both places, both with her, and with him. Hating myself even more for not being able to help her and not being able to keep him. For never measuring up, for feeling lost, for being broken, for being everything I never thought it was possible to become, especially in such a short amount of time.
Stage 5 is Acceptance. And 8 years later, I’m finding I’m still learning to ‘accept’ little aspects that perhaps I haven’t put to rest, or rather managed to block from surfacing. Maybe my acceptance is realizing that that mirror needs to be shattered. Because no matter how many times I go back and replay it, try to figure out exactly at which point I went wrong, was it how I said it or was it that I didn’t say it? Was it that I didn’t love hard enough, or that I loved too much? Was it the tone in which I said it or the manner in which I did it that sent off the wrong message?Or, was it that I did all of them, I just did the wrong ones with the wrong person? Maybe it was that I should’ve loved her more and him less, I should’ve said more to her instead of giving into the argument with him. Then when I go back and look at pictures, I think – ‘God I looked good there!’ – but at the time I remember feeling terrible. Then it becomes ‘well if I were that weight now, or my hair was that length now – then I’d be happier! Uh, why did I feel so crappy there, I look way worse now!
You know what I’m learning to say to that – it’s all fucking bullshiiiiiiiiiiiit!! Every word of it. The truth is, it doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do, how I said it, or if I said it, how I looked, how I felt, what I thought – the point is – this is where I am now. Right here, right now. There is no such thing as a ‘filter’, a ‘crop’ or an ‘edit’ button and we sure as shit all know there’s NO such thing as rewind! I’m sick of beating myself up for it, I’m sick of reliving it, I’m sick of wanting it to look and be different, I’m sick of the emotions that arise when I do relive it, I’m sick of the energy and time I put into things that will never make the outcome any different then what they are.
There are many days that I hate that this is my life and I hate that this is my story, because I feel like it could’ve and should’ve been different. But, what if, we could hit the rewind button and we did it according to ‘text’ book and it still ended? Maybe with a different ending, but the same result nonetheless? What if she had been killed in a car accident instead of overdosing? What if he was honest and asked for a seperation instead of lying and cheating over and over? Would it have made it a little less painful in some ways? Yes. But would it have changed the end result? No. Because sometimes it shakes out a certain way because it has too, because maybe that’s the only way that we’ll wake up and see things in a different light. Or, maybe that’s the only way we’ll finally walk away for good and know that going back is no longer an option. Maybe I put up with it for so long and just kept signing myself up for one more miserable round in the ring after the other until I finally had to have the door slammed in my face so I’d wake the hell up! Maybe I wanted control of something I never had control of to begin with, maybe I wanted to fix something that wasn’t meant to be fixed, maybe I was being told and shown that I needed to be done trying to make something out of nothing. Maybe I have been far more lost and broken because of all of it. But, maybe I’ll come out stronger and farther ahead because of it too.
Either way – peace out to the rear view mirror. Adios to the replays. And a good square kick in the ass to the self hate, blame and shame I’ve allowed myself to feel and endure since those ‘gashes’. What’s done is done, if I don’t want to relive it then I need to make sure I heal from it and move forward, leaving the shattered pieces where they may have fallen. I can’t keep trying to put things together that were meant to stay broken, I can’t keep trying to fix people and things that aren’t meant to be fixed, or don’t want to be. I can only heal myself, a majority of it will remain shattered and tainted, and that’s ok, that’s then, it’s part of my story and what makes it mine. But I don’t want it to own me, to hold me captive, or to be my only story. I want to be able to look ahead with appreciation and enthusiasm, I want the rest of the story to consist of more then that shitty, smeared and broken, ugly and torn past. And the only one that’s sitting in the drivers seat is me. I’ve spent the better part of 8 years with the loaded gun in one hand and the keys in the other. Am I going to pull the trigger over and over or am I going to break the chains that bind me and set myself free? Either way, noone is going to do it but me…and sometimes you have to do it for noone but yourself – and that’s OK too.
Continue reading Apples to oranges
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