All For More (Or Less)

Your last role in the toxic playground amazes me. This is not to say that you are toxic or that you and I are toxic together.
No, I have no place or position to point fingers at anyone and nor do I have the right to judge or condemn.
Let me say this, when it comes to playing the game of life at this level, and when we talk about being toxic or toxic people, it seems to me that our choices came from a place that caused us to either do or accept the unacceptable things.

We were not always at our best. And we will be this way again too.
This can make us do toxic things with toxic people
Of course. And yet, I am not toxic.
Neither are you.
However, everything between us as people is chemistry.

Some chemicals coincide in harmony. Some people coincide tragically.
Some build us up. Some people come with a chemistry that tears us apart or wears us down.

And you?
I am amazed because I see you differently. I see us differently too, which is only fair to say that yes, I can be crazy.
I can be wild.
I can be insane as well, just add fuel to the fire and watch me blow!
It’s easy to set me off.
It’s true.
I admit it.

And you?
I see you as a woman in this world who has had to face too much on her own. And as for being on your own; I see you as someone who understands what it means to be alone in a crowd.
You know what the cold feels like in summertime and I know you know why I find warmth at the beach in midwinter.

I say that as beautiful as you are, you fail to see yourself this way; and thus, I see how you have settled for pretty packages because you assumed that they would be “good enough,” to dance with.
You settled because what you found was close enough to the real thing that at least, maybe someday, you could be happy with what you have, —that is, of course, if you could convince yourself that you never settled in the first place. And yes, you did.
You settled.
You took a deal and bought the trade that was less than what you’ve always wanted. And that’s why you are mad. It’s not because you were taken for a fool. No, you signed your name on the contract but you are mad because you compromised your worth for something that could never be worthwhile.
No matter how hard you try . . .

You are far from toxic to me. Yet, I understand the tolerance it takes to endure your toxic background, —and more, I understand the rationalizations it takes to justify your choices so that you can keep your dignity.
I know how crazy it is to keep yourself sane.
It’s a bitch.
For sure.

All of this amazes me. You amaze me.

You with your figure and your side-eye look with that seductive smile or how you tame me or drive me wild or do both at the same time.

You are beautiful. Not toxic.
You were lied to. Just like me.
You were hurt. Just I was.
You were just trying to survive. And again, I say this because you had to do what you had to do.
Just like I did.

I am amazed by the things we have faced and endured and I am amazed how long we stood for the worst kinds of treatment. It amazes me how we stood for this without understanding that both you and I deserve better.

Yet still, I see no reason to point fingers at other people or associate the outcome with shame and nor is it helpful to use blaming statements, just so we can find fault or assign accountability to someone else.

No, I think it is safer to say that recovery begins within and that accountability is easier when we start to understand the origin of our concerns.

I am here, which is where I have been for centuries. At least, this is how things appear to me.
I have been here in Purgatory and it’s true. I have lived in the different wings and dormitories in this establishment for longer than I can believe.

I used to think  I was built for places like this. Then again, I used to believe that prisons such as this were built for men like me.
But this is untrue and where I am or why (or if) I am here at all is subject to interpretation.

I have no right to claim poverty or to plead ignorance because I have learned, more and more, and I have learned repeatedly without failI am the square root to my own equation.

The walls around us close in sometimes. I find myself claustrophobic in wide open spaces and regardless of the word, “irrational,” I am irrationally triggered by old fears and nonsense which has been programmed and engrained in my thinking.
I have been this way for as long as I can remember.
But this does not mean I am incapable of changing or improving because in the same way, I am here because I want to be better.

I am here to face myself. I will serve my time and do my penance and whether the guards release me or the warden pardons me, and even if the judge finds new cases and someone files new charges against me, —I realize that I have been here for a long, long time, —and therefore, it is no threat to me to be pushed into a hole or punished and locked up, like I am now, here, in solitary confinement.

None of this is real or true.
Not at all.
And in the same text; all of this is true, and all of this is real because all of this is true and real to me.

I have failed myself for the last time, which is not the same as making mistakes. No, I have been mistaken before. And I say that it is safe to admit that I will be mistaken again.
But mistakes are often mistaken for failure and failure somehow becomes a mistaken representation of “self.” And no, I cannot allow myself to be a failure or to identify with being a failure.
Otherwise, I will always fail.

I have put a lot of time and thought into this. I worked too hard to allow myself to be destroyed by an outside source or outside people who hold no truth to me or have no position in my life.
I have made this mistake on a daily basis and as time will prove, I will make mistakes again, consecutively, until I learn from them.
Or so I hope
 

And maybe that’s what this is.
Maybe this is more about the learning curve.
Maybe this is more than an admission of guilt. Maybe this is more than a plea of being guilty, not guilty, or pleading no contest to save my face.

I was always worried and always afraid of how the world sees me. I was afraid of being “that guy” who was crucified by the crowd.
I was afraid, so much so that I failed to notice the importance and the value of how I see myself.

Above all, I cannot blame anyone for my time here in Purgatory.
I took the trade too many times.
And I found myself wanting more.
I found that the deal I took was never enough and therefore, I wanted out of my contract.

But this is how the Beast gets us . . .
This is how the Beast changes his deal, by locating the fine print, which we failed to read before we signed on the dotted line.
I suppose I never read my contracts all the way through, —I suppose I was more excited to be included or wanted or to “have” something (or someone) that I failed to read the details of my contracts. And hence, I signed on the dotted line “just to have something,” and so I gave away my rights and my soul.
I signed my life away just for a minute or a feeling or something that I can say, “look, see? I have something that proves I’m alive and worthy.”
And at the same time, I admit that I have been dying alive for decades now.
I died each time I sold myself to get something for free.

I wished and I wanted but I never dared to put in the work.
I wanted love. But to be in love, one would have to properly exchange love or be loyal to love, —and in the past, I cannot say whether my love was real or not.

However, I can only say there were too many signs and warnings, which I chose to ignore, just so I can say, “look, see? I have someone that proves I’m alive – and worthy!”
And let’s face it . . .
How many of us know what it means to be alive in every sense of the word?
How many of us know what it means to be truly worthy?
Or wait, how many people know they are worth anything at all?

I ask this with intention.
How many people know how to live to their fullest or reach for their best possible potential and still allow themselves to improve if or when they fall?
How critical have we become?
How dependent?

How many times will people believe in someone else’s lies to the point where we live in constant disbelief—and how often must we die before we awaken to a better and more eternal light?
I cannot blame anyone for my position. Yet, I am where I am and my faults and flaws stem from within.

My choices to do as I have done are on me.
No one else.
I cannot and will not excuse this or use anyone else for firewood and blame them, just to keep myself warm when the truth gets cold.

I will never be where I was again. And I might never make it to the so-called promised land.
I might never have that great moment of realization where everything that happened led me up to one spectacular moment.
I don’t know. . . .
I don’t know what needs to happen to say that yes, my past was my past, but my past is what made me choose to be where I am now, —and yes, I am here, in prison.
And yes, I can see why I deserve to be where I am.
And I can see why Purgatory has called me to be in this place, and of course.
I know why the guards and my accusers enjoy the stories they hear about me or my pain.

There will always be someone around to look to feed on someone else. There will always be those who enjoy the outcomes when someone else falls.
There will always be slander. There will always be the rumor mills and the gossip factories, which churn out stories like the daily newspaper.
Only, fact checking is not high on the list of priorities with places like this.
Remember something: character assassination comes from somewhere too, —in which case, I do not wish to engage or defend myself and nor am I going to respond to the so-called witnesses. I refuse to deal with those who will look to testify against me.
Go ahead. See if you can find something to tell the courts that I am not brave enough to say about myself already.

I know what I have done. I know what I am guilty of.
I know why I have shame in my heart and remorse on my tongue. But more, I know that my position in toxic roles were no different from where I am now, —which means I have always been my keeper or my warden and essentially, I have always been the one who could set me free.

No one can kill me more than once. Unless, of course, I keep going back to be killed once again.
And it’s funny to say this and it’s funny to use the word “kill” which is a word that is far more misused than any other word in our language.

But we die in pieces at a time. We die in stages and in different formats or different levels.
We die in the end, but we live far more often than we assume, and we exist in ways that are far greater than we understand.

I cannot die anymore. This is equivalent to my assumption of failure because if the saying is true, and that “trying is dying,” then I refuse to “try” anymore because I refuse to die anymore.

And what I mean is this –
if the Book of James is true, and if it is true that “faith without works is dead,” then I refuse to die and I refuse to live my life on faith and faith alone.
This means I must work.

This means that even if I am falling or even if I am broken or beaten, I cannot die so long that I forget what it means to be alive or to be born again.
I cannot allow myself to die to the point where I believe that my social deaths and my interpersonal failures are the things that have killed me. No, I cannot identify with those deaths or what’s burdened my life, beyond repair.

No one can stop me.
No one can convict me because only God knows me, —and therefore, God knows that I am sinful and wrong.
But I am accountable and mighty like the sign of our continuously rising sun.

No one can judge me fairly because no one can be impartial enough to be honest about their own sins, —and no, I might not be as sinful as some others here in my prison, but this does not mean I am innocent of everything and nor am I guilty of everything.

I am nothing more than a humanized version of someone who has feared too much and quit too often. I am the normalized truth that there are days when we are weak and there are days when we are off the mark.
There are times when we are not fit to compete; and there are days when we are weak but in all, we are far greater and more powerful than we assume.

And so, to go forward, I refuse to assume that my past is what defines me.
No one can define me, but me, because I know me personally. And to hell with everything else.

I know where I have been. I know when I quit and I know why I failed to attempt or failed to compete.

Do or die.
This is life.

If trying is dying and if I have died enough for one lifetime, then I refuse to try another time.
I refuse to allow myself to walk in the shadows of failures or failed thinking.
I refuse to give way.
I refuse to let my place of business or my prison cell be my definition of self.

No, from now on, I will define myself because I know me personally. I know me far better than I believe, —and only the Devil tells me he knows me better.
Only the Devil looks to shake the grounds of my foundation, —to keep me off-balance or make me fear the security of my next step.
This is how he keeps me dependent.

I know how the serpent tricked Adam and Eve.

And to hell with them.
I have paid for their sins enough. I have paid for my own enough as well, and yes, I will pay for my sins consecutively —each and every day until the pardon from above absolves me of sin.

I know this.

Purgatory might refuse to let me go and the judge might not care about my appeal, —but to hell with them.

To hell with my case.
If I am convicted, then I will have been convicted.

But again, who watches the watchmen?
Who judges the judges who condemn us?
And who patrols the patrolmen who govern our path, to keep us in line?

I reject this place.
I reject the bars and I reject the cages and I reject the rooms we call solitary confinement.

I reject the so-called “holier than thou” because if it is within me to sin, and if it is true that to err is human, then I am no more or less human than the box of so-called jury of my peers.

I know what I want.
I know I want more.
But sometimes, less is more.
And I don’t need the big house or the accolades of the crowd. I don’t need the rest of the world to acknowledge me.

I only need you

I swear.

I rattled the cages here last night to check and see if they were still real.
But they aren’t.
These bars are only as strong as I allow them to be.

The rest
 . . . . is up to me.