What Now? – Chapter 4

There is no one on the face of this world who hasn’t lived or thought or felt the sting of regret. And that’s the saying. Isn’t it?
That’s the thing about life, right?
“Life . . .No one ever gets out of this alive.”

I can say that yes. I am a man who has lived. I can say that I am a person who has lived through hard times and tough times, and I have definitely seen great things and I’ve been to good places and eaten amazing foods.
I can say that there were times when I was so high or full that I can recall thinking that someday, I’ll have to pay for this because it had to be wrong or illegal to have “that” good of a time.

I can say that I have lived and survived the different phases of my life. Sometimes, despite my own best efforts to ruin myself, somehow, I’m still here to laugh or tell about this.

I understand the cold months of winter as well as cold times in summer and yes, I am someone who has felt the incredible warmth of say, a moment in mid-November when an unexpected snowstorm hit and ice and snow was on the ground yet, somehow, there was a moment of love in my heart and a time which I felt so unbelievable and incredibly fulfilled that even the icy snow on the sidewalk along 3^rd Avenue in my shoes couldn’t freeze the warmth in my heart.

I can say that I have ridden the waves and felt what it means atop, or to be rushing along the crest and, of course, I understand what it feels like to tumble and fall or to wipe-out, so-to-speak, and hit the shore face first and be punished by the mercies of the tide.

I have seen the ghosts of my past and listened to their whispers, which did nothing more for me than instill fears that are unneeded; yet I understand them—the fears, I mean.
I know them all too well which is why I always called them “me!”

I know what it means to wake up alone or to look at an empty fridge and feel the same way.
Empty . . .
Then again, I know the results of taking things for granted and realizing the worth of simple things that are no longer around. I know this because I failed to realize the value of truth. I overlooked the worth of someone’s heart or their smile, or the simplest things, like a friendly hello, or the basic company of another person to which, I had to wallow in my own self-pity because yes, this was on me.

Yes, I understand this very well.
I think this makes me nothing more than human. And more, I understand what it’s like to be in a roomful of people or family or friends, and at the same time, although the room was filled with common laughter and people—I understand what it’s like to sit among people like this and feel completely or totally alone. Further, I know what its like to sit with people I’ve known forever and somehow, they all seemed like strangers. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m strange.
You know?

I know what it means to be at the right place at the wrong time or to be with the wrong people at the right time, and of course, I understand the meaning of bad timing. I know all about the ups and downs of life.
I know about the swings, which are my moods, which can make me look or seem crazy; and maybe I am crazy.
Sure, I’m crazy.
I’m as crazy as the next person.
Maybe I’m as crazy as anyone else who sees their life and wants more or wants to change their world or their situation—and sure, I’m crazy enough to think or believe that dreams can and will come true and as well, I understand what it’s like to be that kid on Christmas morning . . . just hoping.
I know what it means to dream about that one special gift (or thing) and somehow, maybe Santa skipped over the house that year, or maybe I was on the naughty list and all I wanted was this one thing (dammit) and I swore I tried, and I tried hard to be good, or to be on the good list (actually).

I understand the views of personal blindness, and how it is to be hysterical inside, and to be missing out on the beauties of my own specific talents. At the same time, I know what it means to overlook myself or to count me out or sell myself short.

More than anything, I know the value and the lifesaving measures of what happens when you have someone who believes in you — and I means, someone “really believes!” in you.

I know all about the jagged edges and the cutting tragedies of mental health obstacles, such as the typical and common holdups that come with imposter syndrome.
But ah, when you have that one person who believes in you, or when that special someone encourages you to go or to try and see what you can do . . .

Like in my case, or to me — a kid who never believed in his ability to learn or to comprehend or to understand anything more than what it means to be a junior high school dropout; I know the forced-upon habits of believing that I am (or was) stupid or dumb, or less-than capable because there were challenges in my life.

I understand the struggles with learning, and I especially know what happens when authoritative figures in the educational system do a disservice; then yes, I know what it means to walk around and believe the external and internal narrative that, at best, I could dig a ditch for a living.
Or maybe I could pump gas — or so I was told.

I thought that, at best, I would always be a person who looked for the angles or the quick fixes or the easy grabs, just so I could get by.
I thought the predictions were true, that I would excel in prison.
I never assumed that someone “like me” would ever be anyone to be proud of and so, I fell beneath the lines of my ability and gave in to this way of thinking. Basically, I lived according to this belief system that I should accept that I am subpar at best.

I remember when I took my equivalency test to gain my high school diploma.
I swore I failed it. Of course, I did.
I’m stupid, right?
I was a loser, wasn’t I?
I was labeled and told that I was emotionally disturbed, to which I have yet to find a competent doctor to explain what this means or why anyone would tell a 12-year-old kid.

I was told that I would be fortunate to understand how to drive a truck or do menial labor. And that, at best, I would best be suited for a job that does not require an education.
(Meanwhile, I am a chief engineer in a commercial office building. Sober since April 1, 1991, and I have been flown across the country for some of my mental health work.)

I took the test to gain my high school diploma and of course, I beat myself up for at least a week or two. Then, eventually, I forgot about the test and I went on with my life—until the letter came in the mail.
My results.

I swear it took me an hour—at least an hour, or maybe somewhere around that time, to open the envelope to read my results.
Of course, I failed, right?
I’m stupid, aren’t I?
I suppose I expected to read the words, we regret to inform you
or something like that.

The last word I expected to read was “Congratulations!”
I passed . . .

But what now?
What do you do when you wake up one day and realize that your internal narrative was not only wrong, but this was my biggest bully ever, and had it not been for someone who believed in me—I might have believed that the narrative was true, that I was stupid or otherwise, educationally incapable.

Decades later –
I stood in a roomful of people and prepared for a presentation which I swore that no one would be interested in me. Who would listen to me?
I swore that my voice or my accent or my appearance would never be something that would cause anyone to listen or pay attention.

I swore the feedback was going to be poor, at best.
I never thought I would read or hear people say, “We need more of Ben!”
And yes, I cried right after. The same as I cried right after opening the results to my high school equivalency test because it hurts to realize that it was me who held me back. But fortunately, there are people (like you) who pushed me to believe.

I have been down and out. I have seen bad, dark and terrible places. I have felt the harshness of punished moments and lived through the details of my own worst mistakes. Yet somehow, still, my value and my worth went unseen—and this is why it is as important as air to breathe that there is at least one person who lives and breathes and seeks to inspire us.

Blessed are they because they are truly lifesaving.
I am alive because of this.

So, what now?
What are we going to do when it comes to the fact that life is a tough place, but ah, yes.
I can say that even in the darkness or in the midst of terrible rains or tragedies, I swear there are dawns where the skies somehow open up and point the lights of Heaven in such a way—that alas, love comes through, or if nothing else, someone out there is going to push me or open my eyes to realize that no matter how hard I get hit, my endurance is far more than I believed.

Please don’t leave me.
There hours are later than we think
and I . . .
I’m just a man
just a person
and without you . . .
I am lost and no one other than a person who has been internally misled by a case of mistaken identity.

Please stay . . .
My world is brighter now that the sun shines and your shadows in the sunlight have proven to me that I can see clearly and that yes, I can do things, even the simple things, like smile because I’m loved
(and, of course, believed in).