A Way to Stop, Drop, and Let Go

It’s not so bad. You know?
Walking away. Starting over.
It’s not so bad to give yourself a fresh start or to realize that maybe yesterday wasn’t so great.
So . . .
What does that mean about today?

Maybe starting over is exactly what we needed. Or maybe I needed the ground to shake, and our so-called personal earthquake happened because we didn’t have the strength or the ability to make a decision or walk away. Better yet, maybe the so-called bad news wasn’t so bad.

Maybe even the downfall wasn’t so hard to handle.
I can think about the times when I was mad. This is easy for me.
I was angry. I can think about what went wrong.
I can think about the times when I found out someone special betrayed me or said awful things.
I can think about this.
I can relive the past and rehearse all of my old arguments. I can wish I said something different or wished that I walked away sooner, or said how I felt when I had the chance.

I am not alone when it comes to this. I have spoken with people who endured losses or heartache. I have spoken with groups who talked about their unresolved fights. I listened to others tell me about their memories of how they were hurt.
I have talked about this with people to learn from them. Also, I wanted to learn that perhaps we are not so different and that life is relatable. We are similar in some regards, despite our circumstances and being unique in our own way.

Saying goodbye is not an insult, by the way.
No, I think this is a way to allow for an end.
We all need closure.
I used to think that closure was more like having the last word.
Maybe it was on a few occasions,
but this is not so for me now.

I remember the very last time that I closed the door to my childhood bedroom.
I remember the way it looked, which had changed throughout the years.
I saw the different phases of my life. This was my room.
This was the place where I stored my secrets.
I had some good times in this room. I had bad times.
I had intimate times. I had times of loss and times of confusion.
I grew up here in more ways than one.
Life happened here.
More accurately, my life happened here.

I saw great things and terrible things, which again, this is life.
This is the yin and the yang, or the good and the bad.

I looked in my childhood bedroom for the last time.
Then I shut the light behind me, and I closed the door.
I was the last member of my family to leave my childhood home.
This was hard to do.
So is saying goodbye.
So is mourning the loss of a loved one who never died, but we are somehow dead to them.
This is hard and it’s hard to find closure.
It is hard top handle the finality of something that you tried so hard to keep alive.

I remember that day in my childhood home.
I pass by the old house sometimes.
And I still dream about this place.

I have dreams that I am there in the house, and I am looking for my family. But everyone is gone. Or maybe I just missed them, or they were there and I could hear them, but my parents vanished before I had the chance to see them again.

Mom, is that you?
Pop, are you there?
Anyone?

I have lived at different addresses since my childhood home.
None of them seemed like home to me. Or not really.

There was something different about them. Or maybe something was missing or something was off or unreal, as if there was no such thing as having true ownership. Maybe it was as if I didn’t earn what I had and I was “just lucky” for a while.
I was only an imposter, at best, and life was going to pull my covers eventually.
Then what?
I knew in my heart that at some point, life would change.
I would have to face the music.
I’d have to face the consequences that my life did not belong to me, at least not the way I hoped it would.

I never “felt” successful.
No matter how much I earned or regardless of my improving job titles, I never felt the texture of success.
I would get close.
But never close enough.
I swore that I had found it. I swore that I was on my way.
But no. At some point, I knew I was going to lose everything.
And I did.
I lost it all.

I say this as I write to you and type my thoughts in the corner of my small apartment.
I say this as I wonder, “who the hell would ever love and want someone like me?”
I have been told that no one will ever love me.
I was told that I am a loser and that I am stupid. I was told this by the person who I believed was the only person to truly love me.
But no.
I was wrong.

I write this to you as a man in love. I say this as a man with hope. I say this to you as a man, alone, and without my second half who is away from me.
(At least for now.)
I say this as a person who felt the elusive sting of fate and cursed the winds of destiny for taking me to where I am.
I say this to you because although I had downfalls and a string of unfortunate times, I say this and realize that I was lucky to learn what I have learned.

I was lucky to have the bottom fall out from under me.
I was lucky to learn about the lies from other people or the two-faced side-effects that come from those who smile while hiding a blade in their pocket to place in the meat of my back.

It’s not so bad.
It’s not so bad to say goodbye.
It’s not bad to get knocked down a peg or two.
You learn who loved you and who never did.
You wake up to the realization that settling for less and ignoring the warnings only meant you were out there trying. In the end, you realize how your plan didn’t work.
Now you know why too.
Or, at least I know why.

I didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger on way too many occasions.
So, life decided to pull the plug and change and teach me that I had to change too.

I knew it all along.
I know there is love out there for me.
I know all about her. I dream of her.
I see her eyes in my dreams every night and I promise myself, when ever she says “go,” then I’ll respond by telling her, “I’m ready when you are.”
I’ll mean every word I say
and when she allows, then I will never let her go.

What now?
What’s next?
What am I going to do?

I don’t know the answers to any of this.
But those are questions for another journal.

You know?