I was thinking about starting a new blog, one where I could simply keep track of all the different things that are happening in my life, one where I could rant and rave about the ups and downs that seem to be my lot in life lately (more downs than ups to be honest, but who is keeping track). And then I started looking back at this blog. I set this site up so that I could write and grow in that skill but it was never as well organized as I would have liked. I'm not a computer genius and I have no real desire to learn how to read all the code (simple as my friends tell me it is) that are needed to make this more fancy than the already glorified journal that it is. I began a new site (thanks Google for making my life a little easier) for writing and this has sat a barren waste for about a year or more as I debated whether to delete the site or leave it up. I'm going to leave it up.
I'm going to leave it up, but I'm going to change things up a bit. This is not my writing site anymore. This is my ranting site. This is the place where hopefully I will be able to vent ... I need one.
My life is in pieces right now. I have no glue or adhesive to put things back together with and so I am trying to hold it together with just my hands. I have all the pieces and I am putting them back together with one hand while the other hand simply tried to keep the other parts from falling back out of place. The problem is that each time i seem to pick up a new piece three more fall to the ground again. Sometimes those pieces shatter into even more pieces and I start the process over again.
I truly feel as if I have lost everything. I lost me career, I lost my family, I lost myself even. I have dreams and goals that I am afraid will never become realities because no one will see me as anything other than a felon (a vile one at that). One decision. That was all it took to take a good life and turn it around.
I'm not a bad person. I'm sure everyone says that, and it truly sounds cliched, but it is the truth. What about all the good that I have done? What about the people that I have helped? What about the other 20 years of my life where I wasn't a felon? Do those years count for nothing? In the eyes of the world they don't. judgment is a funny thing. We pass it so readily when someone does something that goes against our stigma, yet when we in turn trespass we expect to be given a get out of jail card no questions asked. I know that I am judged. I even deserve it to a degree (I did something wrong and I must make amends for that wrong) but is it beyond the realm of possibility that I can learn from my mistakes and be better, that my mistakes are not defining (as much as I fear they will be) but are simply a moment where I succumbed to weakness.
I cannot justify my actions. I will not place then on anyone's shoulders but my own. I own my choices, and this was a choice. It was the wrong choice, and one that I could not simply back out of once it was made. It was choice that could not be buried or covered up through half-truth or deception (thought God knows I tried). Like the oil from a BP spill, everything bad/wrong eventually rises to the top. The good part (if you can call it that) is that once it is on the top you can begin to clean up the mess. Which, coincidentally, is where I am now. I have my mop and my bucket and I am going to try and clean this mess up, my mess. That is the fist step; you have to own your messes. They are not mistakes; the term mistake suggests that you were unaware of the possible outcome, or that the part you played was somehow beyond your control. These kinds of messes are not mistakes. They are entered into willfully and with a full knowledge (whether you accept it or not) of the worst possible outcome--and with a mess of this nature it is never just a slap on the wrist.
I know what I did; I made the choice knowing full well that it was the wrong choice. I let myself fall into that viper den and I knew once I was bit that I was a dead man. I tried to ignore it but I knew that so long as I kept trying to hide the snake bite that venom would continue to kill me from the inside out. I was a shell of myself. I hated who I was. I was miserable and depressed. I was dying and I had only myself to blame. I lied to everyone about what was happening and I lied to myself about it being wrong. I justified my action and I justified how I was hurting those around me by blaming them for my own self-inflicted injuries. In the end I was hurting everyone that I loved as much or more than I was hurting myself.
The best thing that ever happened to me (ironic as this sounds) was when I finally started telling the truth about everything I had done. By finally being honest I was able to breath again. I didn't feel as if I was going to suffocate anymore because I was holding my breath waiting for the bomb to drop. I was still terrified, but I could be terrified outwardly. I no longer had to bottle it up and hide it from the world. I was liberated from my own prison. Now I just have to hope that I can avoid the literal prison that looms before me.
What am I trying to say through all this. These bi-polar ramblings have got to stop. Well, here it is. Here is the one thing I want to say most of all.
I am truly sorry.
I am sorry for everything that I have done, all the pain that I have caused, all the stress and heartache that has come due to my poor choices. I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry.
I hope that reaches to right people. You know who you are if you read this.
As for you, Mr./Ms. Random Reader, I am sorry that you had to wade through the mire that is my rambling.
I'll post again. I have so much more to ramble on about. Until then ...
Cheers,
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