And Oh, About That Thing

I have built this place in my head because if there is nowhere else, at least I can be myself here. At least I can speak my mind or speak freely. I can be honest without the fears or worries of feedback that would either hurt me, put me down, or break my heart.
This is why I have built this place and this is why I come here to find you.

There is a tattoo that runs down from the upper part of my back. This is posted like a billboard and written as a reminder. The tattoo is written in traditional Chinese characters, which translates to trust yourself first. Do not trust other people.

I cannot say that I have trust in people. Then again, it would be a lie for me to say that I don’t trust anyone. I can say that like many others, I have challenges when it comes to trust.
I have trusted the wrong people before. In the same way, I have failed to trust the right people, which is crazy if we think about it.

I remember when I trusted people to sell me a deadly poison. This is when I was younger and dependent on a substance that kills people on a daily basis.
Yet, I still trusted this.
I trusted the worst people, yet I failed to trust the best.

I trusted a denial that would otherwise bury me or kill me alive. While I understand to say “bury me,” or “kill me alive” is a contradiction of terms, I also understand the feeling of dying alive, or simply existing. This is what happens when we live lifelessly, just walking, or meandering like some aimless leaf after its fallen from a tree and shook by the wind or blown away.

I remember an afternoon from my mid to late 20’s. I remember going through the realization of my heartbreak and hearing the reasons why I would not be fit for a girl who supposedly loved me or said she would never leave—until she did.

I was told that I would never be a real provider. I was told that I would always be halfway, and that I would never move forward or get ahead. I was told that I would never be good or good enough for anybody.
I believed this.
I was told and convinced that whether the reason for this was due to old traumas, or whether this was because I was lazy, or more simple, whether the reason for this was because I was emotionally handicapped, I would never be good for anyone and that no one would (or could) ever love me fully because I would (or could) never be fully present.
I was told that I could never be true, or aware of myself enough to improve and be better. I was told that my love would never be enough for anyone.
And I believed this.

Hence, this is why I built this place in my head. This is why I come here. This is why the first words I wrote when I began my construction were “my redemption has nothing to do with your response.”
I have been told that no one really cares, unless you are in their life and important enough to be considered. Even then, no one really cares more about you than they do their own agenda.

This is why I come here.
There is no judgment of me here.

I have been told that I am somewhat “constitutionally” incapable, which I explain and quote because of its origin to me. The word constitutionally incapable comes from the “Big Book,” or the Alcoholics Anonymous bible.
Am I capable?
Constitutionally, I mean.
Maybe.
Sometimes.
But who is anyone to judge?

I have been labeled and accused. I have been hurt, put down, and yes, I have submitted to, and succumbed, and supported the predictions that both destroyed, buried, and killed me alive.

I admit to acting accordingly and behaving like the monster that I was predicted to be.
I admit to the injustice of my inaccurate belief system and, too, I agree, confirm, and wholeheartedly support the aftermath and results of emotion.
I agree.
Thoughts, feelings, and emotions can either poison the well, or replenish life back into a lifeless soul.
There is a choice here,
most fail to make this choice in time.
And some never choose at all.
Instead, they lie or settle with their less-desired world and blame others for being alone or loveless.

I do believe that we can “think” ourselves into insanity.
I know this is true.
I believe that we can think our way into the deepest pain, and that while life is situational and so is pain, we can reopen the wounds and keep our pain alive for way too long.
We can grieve. We can hurt. We can die alive.
Or we can heal.
We can recover.
We can improve or change our patterns and change our ways.
And yes, we can change our thinking.
We can update and improve our behaviors to the point where we can improve the way we feel, talk, live, love, laugh and learn.
This is not impossible, nor will this be easy.
But yes, we can accomplish happiness even in unhappy times.

This brings me up to where I am now, here, at this point –
It is morning now, early and I am half-in or half-out of my mind. I can hear the doves on this side of Purgatory. Otherwise known as Long Island, New York.

It took me some time to get up this morning. Or come to think of it, I am not sure if I am up or awake right now.
I could not sleep last night, yet I could not stay awake.

The sun came up, but the rain clouds interrupted the first light and somehow, the sad prediction of a rainy day was lifted with a few shades of orange color because the sunlight tried to break through the gray clouds.
I was lying still and thinking about three of our major positions in life.
I was thinking about our home life, our love life, and our professional life.
I was thinking about the unstable interruption of either of the three and how this can destroy the balance of our personal trinity.

Changes in our home life are major. So are changes at work and, of course, changes in our life are also major. We all know this to be true.
The impact from these changes can be amazing or punishing, that is, of course, depending upon the change itself. Not all changes are bad.
But some are.

All three of these positions have changed for me. The changes were constant and gradual and sometimes the speed of these changes was drastic and fast. Sometimes, the changes were unforgivably slow and anxious, like the harsh moments before fate reads its verdict, or like being on some broken death trap at a carnival, inching up slowly. click by click, and aggravating the fears in our mind and the stress in our hearts for an upcoming fall.

It’s been a few weeks since I heard the news of a friend who chose to end his own life. I don’t know what his last thoughts were. I don’t know what he faced or what he saw.
I don’t know what his love life was like. I don’t know about his home life or if his work life was unthankful and unenthused.
I don’t know where his line in the sand was. I didn’t know about his fight or flight or why he chose to go instead of stay.
And here I am, thinking about the labels and the hurt and the insults I have heard about me.

I am thinking about the uninspiring predictions about me. I am thinking about the labels that I wore above my head and believed in them to the point which made everything about them true.
At least, they were true to me.

I am thinking about the beliefs that I was told or how something about me will always be off, or off-center, or that I would never be worthy or capable of love, or that I would be coldhearted at best, a narcissist, or a parasite, like a leach who devours everything, and when all is gone, I run and hide and wonder why I am alone.

I have been told this. I have been told worse too.

I have been called a sociopath but yet, I doubt this because I feel, I have empathy, and I can weep and recognize sadness or pain.
I have been called a psychopath—and truly enough, I have been called this by people who were equally (if not more) as crazy as I am —figuring that yes, of course, I am crazy. If there is such a thing as crazy, I have been pointed at and accused and labeled and believed in the worst about me.
And why wouldn’t I believe this.
This is what people do when they are angry. The persecute or take shots at physical appearances to make others believe that they are ugly too.
I say this because when someone you love points and accuses you, or uncovers your shame and exposes your fears, and out of rage, they unveil your emotional and physical insecurities, and when someone who supposedly knows you best or is closest to you and yet, they villainize you or demonize you, it’s hard to see yourself differently.

It has been predicted that I would be dead by the age of 18.
I’m 52 now.
It has been predicted that I would never be more than someone who could dig ditches for a living—and by the way, I am friend of people who dig ditches for a living, and for the record, their six-figure income is nothing to sneeze at.

I have been told that I am the worst of all people.
I have hurt people and I have been hurt.
I do not excuse my wrongs nor claim to be absolved or forgiven.

I have lived under the assumption that I am nothing more than the sum of my biggest fears.
I have believed that I am my worst insecurities, and, to be clear, I have believed in this for as long as I can remember.

There are days when my will and my spirit and strength are enough to exceed these limitations. And there are days when I am like I was in my deepest depression, lying in bed and noticing the sway of an old, lifeless cobweb that hangs in the corner by the ceiling and moves like a ghost in thin air.
I have felt this way, ghostlike or unalive.

I have done things that I will have to answer for, and there are times when I wonder if this is the reason why everything went to shit . . .
Maybe I am answering now.
And maybe I have more to answer for later too.

I think to myself, “Is this why?”

I have been lied to and misled.
I have had promises broken. I have been blamed.
And now, all I can think to do is say, “okay. Fine!”

Now is the time to get up and get going.
No one can undo what happened or see the world from my eyes.
I get this.

I have to:
Change my view to change my opinion.
Change my steps to change my direction.
Change my thinking to change my heart.
And yes, due to a recent loss, tragic and heartbreaking, I have to change my life now.
Otherwise, all the harsh and sad predictions will come true.

I just can’t have that right now.
Understand me?

And to you R.O.
I understand the feelings that come sometimes.
I understand what it means to be lost.
I might not see these things from your perspective.
However, I wanted you to know that you were always an inspiration to me, and despite your recent decision, you still inspire me . . .
to think before I act.

Sleep well, my friend.