Alone at my bottom with nowhere left to fall, I was most afraid that my bottom had a trap door. And when I say alone, I mean the worst kind of alone; I mean the kind with no one to turn to and no to speak with. When I describe alone, I describe this from inside an empty apartment with naked walls, no pictures, and hardly any furniture. I had an old television set, but no cable. I had one VCR but only two movies. The walls in my new apartment had been recently painted white and the fumes still lingered. The cupboards were empty. The stove was new but there was no food in my old yellow refrigerator.
New to my residence as a tenant in the upstairs apartment of a private home, I felt the kind of loneliness that is as apparent as the flashing number “0” on the answering machine. And at night, the moonlight would filter in through my window as I lay awake, staring at the red numbers on my alarm clock. The rest of my bed, the same as the rest of my apartment and the rest of my life was empty.
I began to think about what I had and what I walked away from. I wondered if it were better to have something than to have nothing at all. Whether I had something real or substantial was subjective to the fact that I felt as if I no longer had anything at all. Whether I was in good company or bad, at least there was someone there. But here in the apartment; there was no one else but me
This was not a surprise. I knew it was time to go when I was lying in bed with someone and between us both was an empty section of cold real estate. Almost as frigid as Siberia or something which felt like an arctic desert, should any part of my body wander into this frigid, empty section of the bed and accidentally touch hers, the feeling that followed was no less than repulsive. And no, I do not believe I was alone with this. I knew the feeling was mutual
At the downfall of my so-called life, last day in the home, a moving truck arrives to take a few things. The rest was gone and so was a life that was never meant for me.
I sat alone in my new place and wondered why my life had become the way it was. I wondered what I had done to deserve this.
I asked myself where I had gone wrong and why did I put myself in this place to begin with. It was not the loss I felt; it was the failure that punished me.
It was not the girl; it was the loneliness I felt and the terrible worry of, “Who would want me now?” that hurt the most
Who would want me, a failed husband, and a man unsure of how to be a good father? Who would want me, a man with a humbled bank account and with sizable debt coming upon the horizon?
I sat in my sad bottom, worrying about a trap door. I had become the subject of lies. I felt deceived; I felt betrayed and while outraged, truthfully, I felt the heartbroken sting of loneliness. Who would be there for me now? As a result of these questions, I sought the attention of temporary love, which was more physical and certainly less satisfying to me. There was nothing that could solve this puzzle for me. No, this was a problem that only time could solve
Whether what I had was good or bad, again, at least I had something. I went from having something to the empty feeling of having nothing. All that was left were tiny remnants of a life that I no longer belonged to. And worse, all that remained were the reminders of a failed marriage and an infant child who would now become a product of divorce. And all that remained was the reminder that I had accepted a trade long ago; it was a trade, which deep down, I knew something was wrong. Deep down, there were warning signs. Deep down, I knew there were red flags, but as a compromise; I settled for and accepted those red flags as a trade which I had hoped would lead to something that resembled happiness. Unfortunately, however, life does not work this way.
Suddenly alone, I became aware of every red flag that I turned a blind eye to. I was aware of all the warning signs I chose to overlook. And sternly, I told myself, “Never again!” Alone, it was here that I came to the realization of myself; I was aware of my wrongs and where I settled. It became clear to me that it is not a tragedy to love someone and lose; however, it is a tragedy to settle for something less than my own value.
I remember an afternoon in my apartment. I sat on the couch with tears rolling down my face. There was no one to take my phone calls; those who I thought were friends were only friends during fair weather, and now that the weather was too; it seemed as if I had no friends at all. Yes, I was hurt, and yes I was alone. I did not miss the girl, nor did I have love for her; it was the failure I felt that nearly killed me. It was the failure I felt that dug me deep into a slow, sad depression.
“Who’s gonna want me now?” I asked myself.
At stage one of my loneliness; I could not see anything other than this, —I was painfully alone and I felt trapped with no way to out. I could be in an open field and still feel claustrophobic. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell and break out. I wanted to shout at the life I had and shout at myself for the choices I made. And when the depression slipped, the anger set it, but when the anger grew tired, the sadness took over and in either emotion, regardless to which part of this cycle; I was on the losing end of these feelings..
As I saw it, no one would want me. No one cared, no one believed me, and more painfully no one believed my side of the story. No one was truly there to help, and those that did help seemed labored to do so. My family was distant and my friends were no different. On my worst day and during the worst of circumstances, I swore I would die lonesome.
I am not sure if, “It’s darkest before the dawn.”
I’m not sure if there is anything darker than a lonely, sad, depression. But I am sure that there is nothing more beautiful than the light of hope, and like the sunrise, when the first light shined and when I saw a glimmer of what was to come; at last, I felt hope. And hope is a pretty incredible thing when all you felt before was emptiness
I came to the realization that only I could empower myself. If I were to improve, then I could only improve by taking action. To do this, I needed a plan. And I gave a title to this plan. I called this plan, “No more.”
I swore myself to this creed. “No more!”
I chose to view any success, no matter how tiny they may have seemed as a victory. I could not fall down without getting back up or allow myself to sink backwards. No, if I were to ever find my way out of this hole; I would have to climb with all my strength and all my heart. And when fatigue set it; when I felt tired or pain; when I thought that I could not go another step, I said the words, “No more!” to gain my second wind.
I will not lie and say there was never any doubt. This would be dishonest. There was plenty of doubt and times of struggle. I set goals for myself and there were days when I fell short of them. But, “No more,” meant exactly that, “No more!”
Although I fell short, I did not give up. I did not give in because if I did; If I said “To hell with it,” and quit, or if I allowed myself to slip backwards, as I saw it, this would prove me wrong and it would prove the rest of the world right.
Someone once told me the best revenge is good living. I suppose this is true to a point. In my opinion, the best revenge I’ve ever felt was the day I grew to realize I no longer needed to avenge myself.
There is something magical about the words, “No more!”
Saying them aloud began my commitment, and when I was tired or thought about giving up, I said them again and they pulled me through.
You should try it out.
It just might help you through. . .