I’ve been approaching this all wrong, living two lives, chasing two goals, and fighting with myself this entire time. One part of me wants to wallow in this misery, to suffer for the pain I’ve inflicted, to pay the price for breaking another human being. The other part of me wants to focus on healing, to forgive myself, to find whatever happiness awaits me in the future. I cannot do both.
Today has been rough. Almost as black as things could be. Isolating myself may not have been wise, but I think I needed it. I don’t think I could’ve let go as much as I did this morning if someone were here keeping vigil. I think I needed that release, and I think I needed that (hopefully) final confrontation with the darkest thoughts in my head. (You know, those thoughts I can’t really talk to you about without police showing up at my door.)
I woke up at 7 from a very pleasant dream, and almost forgot what today was for a few minutes. As soon as I remembered, though, I tried going back to sleep, tried to escape back into that fantasy where I was happy. I laid there for about an hour, unable to settle, until I came to realization that going back to sleep wasn’t an escape. It was a delay, a postponement of the feelings to come. So I got out of bed at eight o’clock, on a holiday, and started cleaning up the house.
By 10, I had fallen to the floor crying at least three times, usually holding some ridiculous thing against my chest, a thing that made me think of her. One of those times my thoughts went to that place, thought of the hard-shell plastic container under my bed that I keep telling my friends is actually at my Dad’s. Each time, though, I pulled whatever the item was away from my chest and put it in a bag, and stood back up. Each time, whether I did it consciously or not, I made the choice to stand up and keep going.
Shortly before 11, I sat on the couch to rest my back (Yes, it’s still bothering me, and I think I’m going to have to go see someone about it at some point.) I had found my sketch book while cleaning and set it out there until I can find a permanent spot for it. As with writing, I didn’t really think before I pick up the sketch pencil. I just sort of let it move on the paper, guided by whatever demon or angel possesses me at the time. When I set the pencil down, I had to laugh at what I’d drawn. It just put everything into perspective. My entire life, really, summed up in a stupid, poorly-drawn sketch. It was at that moment that I made my choice. I’m going to focus on the bright things. I’m going to work towards seeing the good in things before I see the bad. I know it will be a hard road for me, and I will stumble countless times, but I also know that my mind is finally made up.
I’m going to forgive myself. I’m going to be the best version of me that I can be, despite my mistakes and bad choices, and the world will be a better place for it. I am going to live. I don’t just mean that I’m not going to kill myself. I mean that I am going to experience life and light, instead of dwelling on death and darkness.
I’m going to love myself.