One day, I’m going
to have those movie moments I’ve always dreamed. It gets discouraging when all
I seem to get is more lessons and less permanence. I have discovered what it
means to really love someone, I have experience serendipity, I have had perfect
moments that were unplanned, and I have precious words said to me that I’ll
never forget. How is it possible to believe that someone new can fulfill all
these ideals I have in my head and top it off with being even more fantastic?
It may seem egotistical of me to think I even deserved any of the good
experiences I have had, and believe me when I say I don’t think I do. I am more
inclined to think I was treated harshly throughout my life as punishment for
getting things I didn't deserve. But I know I have done the right thing many times, and the right thing seems to be letting go.
I don’t want to be
known as a quitter, don’t get me wrong, because I don’t like failing or backing
down. I do know when something has reached its end, or it’s the end of the line
and I’m supposed to jump off the train. Unfortunately, the train doesn’t stop
moving so I’ll get hurt, cuts and bruises or broken arms – more like a broken
heart in this analogy. I think what hurts me the most is that I tried so hard
in my friendships or relationships to never be selfish and to always think of
the other person before myself. And look where it got me and lead me. All I can
do to keep myself sane is to tell you my thoughts or how I got here, or what
happened. I don’t think anyone is as open as they would like to be or that they
say they are. I think some secrets are better never revealed. I know for a fact
that there are unforgivable acts and I hope I am one person never to commit
any.
I could start from
the beginning, but I don’t want to recollect on that part of the past because
we all have been born, and we all have had a mother and father. It seems silly
to think my tale is so important that you have to know it, but I also know that
my life needs to be a testimony or an example of why doing the right thing is
beyond oneself because our choices not only affect our lives, but the lives
around us. What I mean is that because I didn’t stand up for myself or the
truth as much or as often as I should have while I was growing up, I lost
myself and I lost sight of what being real was. I knew how to be real with
people, I just didn’t think it was okay or what anyone really wanted. I still
have a hard time believing anyone wants to see the naked truth or soul of
someone else. Except maybe me. I’m not saying that for you to think I am
something special or unique, but the fact is I want to know the person I love.
I want to see his flaws and weaknesses and breakdowns. I want to know that he
has had miserable nights like I have, that he grew up fast and having to be
tough and impenetrable. It’s hard to love someone when that person doesn’t
connect with me in that deep way.
I don’t wish on
anyway what I’ve been through, and I know others have been through much worse.
Sometimes it seems only good things happen to those who are waiting to die from
a terminal illness. And that is what hurts me so much. I hate that the dying
have to experience such a beautiful life and know there is an end coming up
fast and soon it will all be gone for those around them. I also hate that I
never know when I am going to die, when the end is, and yet nothing in my life
is in order. It seems if only I had a terminal illness, someone would really
love me, if only I was dying would I have true friends, if only I had a time
cap that people would care what I had to say. I’m not trying to feel sorry for
myself, but this whole thing is just a mystery to me. Why does life work the
way it does?
There are so many
things that have happened to me that I assume I deserve because I feel like I’m
reliving some of my mother’s childhood. It’s almost like Karma, except I’m
getting punished for my mom’s past. And it’s not like she was this wicked
teenager. She was so similar to me, basically invisible to the people she cared
about most and treated like she didn't mean anything. I think my circumstances
turned out a lot worse than my mothers, but I think that is only because I was
made to handle a lot more. After all, I’m part like my father and part like my
mother. I’m the happy medium child, except being overly sensitive, quiet and
surrounded with brick walls that hide so much emotional baggage, that doesn't seem so happy. Sometimes I can burst out and be unintentionally aggressive, like my dad, or I can be so talkative about my position that it drives you
insane like my mom, or I can be quiet and listen attentively like my dad, or I
can try to calmly explain myself and just start balling, like my mom. I am not
saying this to be hurtful or rude about how my parents are, those are their
faults and I cannot hold it against them because obviously I share those same
reactions with them. It’s rather a vicious whirlwind of emotional distress and
character building that I experience and I would say that is part of my
problem.
So, why do I tell
you all this? Why do I write as if anyone is reading? Because I hope one day,
someone will read and will listen and care. I don’t understand all of this that
I have experienced and I wish I had answers for my own questions. I am so good
at advising others and discussions yet I don’t even know how to solve my own
problems. I have been hurt, I am really guarded, and I am seeking out people to
be my friends and talk. Everyone is so unavailable, and I am beginning to
accept that. So what my life isn't some movie where there is a happy ending?
Even if I never get to experience a movie magic romance ever again in my life,
at least I can make the most of my life lessons and never make the same
mistakes again. At least I can go out bright, even if the train doesn't stop
moving and I have to jump. I might as well jump as far as I can, and hit the
ground because there is no going back to where I came from.
Life is a race, so
win it.
