As a kid, I loved the game of life. Used to play it by myself, which is sad, or shows really how much I enjoyed the little cars and plastic people. I have had the good fortune to see a lot of the world, and live in different income brackets, so I like to think I have some perspective. All of this means I want to make a real Life board game, but that’s not important. One thing about Life, people do love playing games.
I am happy, deal with this fact. Spin that wheel, move the number of spaces fate tells you, but I am not remembering anything like, “willfully set out to hurt this guy’s feelings.” I have made it further than any doubter expected, and rather than be happy for me, it’s just sad attempts to knock me down. There were words said, truths that are shining through and I am sad it makes some people sick that I haven’t followed my usual m.o. of self-destruction. I will always remember the words of the last therapist I had, the last session, where she told me I either stop, or I am going to be a junky until the day I die. Still trying to figure out where it is printed in some textbook that anyone who has spent 15 of 17 years on some form of opiate, hits a point of no return and is damned to the life.
Am I a pleasant surprise? Am I a twisted disappointment? That all I could be is suddenly coming to fruition pisses some people off? It’s been a lot of reflecting lately for me. How I got to this present day, the madness willingly walked through, to get me to this reality where true joy actually exists. The people I have met, those who have made some sort of imprint on my mind, and just the journey. The sheer luck, or the attentiveness of my guardian angels (yes, I like to think I needed more than one, and they worked in shifts), that I even survived. Sometimes I still want to keep my voice silent, to not really tell all. A memoir can have some creative license I guess, but the first go round was just one of some omissions. That is being corrected, maybe at the expense of feelings of others, but it is my life, and how I lived it.
What is getting me these days is the games people play. See, I got it back on track. I find it odd that people have a hard time dealing with the truth. Me, I always knew the truth, would beat the hell out of myself because of it, and do a lot of drugs to forget it. When something good happens to me, and I allude to it here, assumptions are made, and then the weirdness begins. Random messages to me from people long ago forgotten. More odd, they aren’t even addressed to me (HEY LOOK, you got your mention mofo!), but to someone I deeply care about. Still trying to piece that one together.
Pretend friends lob accusations at me. I love passive aggressive bullshit. It really shows a whole lot of character. Who wants to know what, just ask me. You think you made a mistake in your judgments of me? Just like I live with my mistakes, so do you too. I warned you. There is no coming back. So much of me is different, there are no compromises being made where I am some lame ass democrat giving away the farm for a tent in the woods. I have no face left to save, or rather, I tore the mask off and see the real me in the mirror. A face that doesn’t show its age, that doesn’t hint at the madness of the past. Really, I should look like I am 125, not younger than my 39 years…special thank you to someone who told me I look at most 33.
Maybe this is what happens when people assume you have fame knocking at your door. That of all people, how am I so close to breaking out? I can’t pay for my sins on a person by person basis, or sin by sin to each person. Everyone would love that I am taking it, based on what transpires each day. A random friendly text message out of nowhere, even though wrath won out when I asked for help. An email asking how I’ve been, is the check in the mail? Yeah, it’s post-dated until 2013, but its all good. After all, when we gain steam, and make it halfway up the mountain, it’s a great time to reflect, drink and smoke for a month of wasted opportunities.
What is it about me that holds some sort of fascination? Yes, I discuss my life, everyone who reads this blog knows I am in love, it’s pure, it’s as true as gravity. It’s not meant as a slap in the face, but a way to show anyone who is at the end of their rope, that someone feeling all alone out there, to hold on. It’s not about who I thank God for helping me collide with, it’s about not giving up, about never losing hope.
I don’t bitch about getting robbed, or having renters bail out on me, leaving me holding the bag to gain pity, raise money, but again, to work through it all. Anything is possible when you don’t give up. It is hard, it is painful. Just like I posted about my year clean, it is not about me. It’s about my best friend, whose support was constant, who helped me without me ever asking her. Through her, I learned how to be truly kind. Again, a blessing, one I had to have my eyes open to see. It’s about others who had the guts to make a phone call to me in the wee hours of the morning, and cry his soul out to me. Or a girl who told me that I inspired her to get honest, and stop living the lie that a doctor knows best.
In the end, these people, best friend and strangers, they are the ones that helped me pull through. They got me through today so I could enjoy the unexpected beauty of tomorrow. Anytime we make the world about us, we are fools. Anytime you read my words and take offense, you are making assumptions that are based on vapor dreams.
I am really not important. I shouldn’t be on your mind. I am so far away from almost everyone today. Those who are close know who they are. I still am guarded, I still live behind my wall. Trust and me, we rarely ever see eye to eye. The game players add more bricks to the division every day. Champion my cause, until you find issue with who I hold close. Is life so unfulfilling that drama needs created from thin air? Are your words of advice so proven that I am the excuse you use to justify your short comings?
Only one person sees me. Only one can tell me what I did today. Only one knows my thoughts, my day-to-day struggles, the memories that still cut me. Only one sees the stress manifest itself as I tear at my skin, because only one has my complete trust. Yet so many think they do. Would it change your opinions, would it help to know I have suffered at the venom of my own mind more than a hundred public stonings? Or do you need to hurt me personally to make your life seem a little more fulfilled.
The game of life, it should teach some lessons. Sorry to say I am a slow learner, but the journey to reach true understanding isn’t on some Google map. It isn’t after you load your car up and land on the highest paying career. You can’t buy beauty, and you cannot take a loan out on forgiveness. The one who knows me, inside and out, gets it, gets me. There is a purity in her words because her actions follow suit. I love learning from her. I am such a better person because I learned to listen, to admit I really don’t have any answers. She taught me to never give up, to dream big and not be afraid of shit.
I always do my best to never mention a name, because we all know the truth. As the saying goes, it hurts. I know this, as I have been a major disappointment for a long time. I am over that, and have forgiven the person in the mirror, after a slew of admissions of being so wrong for so long.
So, last time I looked, none of us roll dice or spin a wheel and land on a given space when we walk out the front door. We have all made our decisions that have brought us to this place in time. There is always time to change the path you are on, I am living proof of that, no matter the amount of dismay that may bring. Yes, I should be dead, clinically twice over, and probably another 20 times where time lapsed and blood was spit up for weeks afterwords. I am a scar, but I am not picking at them to bleed anymore. And neither can anyone. Not anymore.
When you know the game is being played, it is so easy to walk away. So, to the few that this applies to, just stop. If it is impossible for forgiveness, of me, of yourself, then just forget me. Relishing my failures and cursing my successes, really, not any way to live. Erase me. Revenge is ugly. Jealousy is pathetic. Specks in my rear view mirror, fading away the further to truth I get.
To the one who is one and the same, you are a Godsend, a once in a lifetime star that illuminates our lives.
“He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.” – John Milton