Being Honest With Fiction

In retrospect, I find myself in the contrast of my past and wondering what happened.
What went wrong, and how the hell did I end up where I am?
Is this an accident or just a moment of clarity.
Perhaps, this means I can wake up now . . .
and start over
I say this not to say that where I am is so terrible or dark because of course, we have all been in much darker places and lived through darker times.

I cannot say exactly what I said or what I wrote but I do recall my first “goodbye” letter.
I say this without the intention of this sounding desperate, like a final measure or an ultimate farewell.
This was not a case of me saying goodbye to the world.
No, In fact, this letter was quite the opposite.

My first goodbye letter was written to say hello to a new life.
I was urged to do this so that in essence, I can become a new person.
I was not sure who I was and nor could I know who I would become if I chose to live differently or walk another way.
And ah, the dear, sweet unknown.

I grew tired of the same streets and the same people. I was tired of falling for the same tricks and tired of the fallouts and the secret chaos, the lies, and even more; I was tired of losing to a sad consumption of a deadly poison, which I used to keep myself alive.
One bag at a time.

I have no connection to this part of me anymore. No, I am far removed from my youth and from a sickness that kills countless other people, despite my survival.

I have no connection to the touch or the feel or the attachments to that part of me.
At least, not now.
Then again, I am not one to notice symptoms anymore and rather, I look at the “things behind the thing,” because in all fairness; deal with the symptom and perhaps the symptom goes away.
But then what?

Or better, treat the problem and perhaps the symptoms never return.
And we do this too.
We treat symptoms.
We are a system of excess and a society that is based on symptom based treatment.
And what does this do?
Think about it . . .
Here we are, wondering why the problems still exist.
We lose ourselves to the simple but complex curiosities and we ask ourselves why the weeds in our emotional soil starve the flowers of our dreams.
No flower . . .
No fruit . . .
No dreams come true.
And then what? 

I know why I did what I did.
I always knew “why?” and while I might not have had the language to talk about this with you or the understanding to convey myself, I knew all about my discomforts.
I knew why I hated my refletion in the mirror.
My face, my lies, my obvious unisghtliness.
I was ugly . . .

I knew why I chose to run or hide or why I chose to look for the quick fix. And as for the fix, I knew how this literally broke everything, one dose at a time.
And yes, I wondered why everything always seemed to get worse.
Was it me?
Was it you?
Did I deserve this?
Or would I ever deserve anything better?

I wondered if I was ever going to find my way.
I wondered if I was going to die this way, always lost, always missing, always thinking that something about me was off or inaccurate or just defective. 
Why was I born like this and how was it that people who were obviously or physically challenged or supposedly ugly somehow always better than me?
Why?
Why do I hate myself so?
Why do I hate the look on my face or why do I hate the sight I see in the mirror?
Why do I have to be this way or live this way?
Maybe I am cursed.
Maybe I am paying for sins from a past life.
Maybe I am the tired waste of real men and somehow, I am like a staple or a comparison to what is good and what is worse.

But let e get back to my point.
My first goodbye letter.
I was 17 . . .
I was told to write a letter to my old self and say goodbye.
I was told to write a goodbye letter to my habit and to the memories that lingered. I had to write a letter to things, like the last facial expression of a dying man, eyes fixed from his overdose, glazed and shocked with a “deer in the headlights” appeal and stuck with the primal awareness that yes, this is it.
Death.

I don’t know what I wrote or what I said in that goodbye letter.
I don’t know if I was honest.
I don’t remember how long the letter was or if the letter was heartfelt.|
Perhaps, my reservation to hold my tiny secrets was sick enough to keep me dying alive, and so, I held my dishonesties to keep them safe.
I don’t know.

And so, what is this?
Is this a letter?
Is this goodbye?
Or is this a connection with something inside of me that never left.
And if this is so, does this mean that whatever it is “inside me” is toxic or poisonous?

No.
See, I think there is something greater than greatness in us all.
I believe that somehow, we know when we fall short and we know when we fail ourselves.
I know I can do better but the inherent laziness and the glaze of depressive thinking errors and thus; my cognitive distortions mutate the truth and amplify the exaggerations that keep me from seeing an accurate picture.

I can say goodbye to this.
I can say goodbye to the pains that linger, like my old war wounds from battles of the heart.
I can say goodbye to the constant reminders of all that went wrong.
I can say goodbye to the sins and the wrongs or the crimes that came before today.
And yes, they are heavy and they are many and they are weighty ad too heavy to hold.

Goodbye to this.
I can say goodbye to the lies I believed.
I can say goodbye to the times when I knew better.
Yet, I took the bait and believed the pretty lies because I knew they were better than ugly truths.

I can say goodbye to my most unfortunate truth, which is that I never dared to love truly and that I never dared to love soulfully. No, and while I knew I wanted love and I knew I wanted more, I kept my reservations to keep me safe.
I allowed myself the little doses of flirting or or cultivating something on the side because like a drug, I needed a fix to solve my selfish, self-centered dilemmas.
How sad and sick is this?
I lived this way too.
I allowed myself to believe the insecure ideas that in the end, no . . .
no one will ever “really” be there forever.
Love is a lie.
Or wait. no.
Love is more of a social construct because we are flock-like and herd animals.
Love is a lie and there is nothing fairytale-like and no, there is no such thing as happily ever after.

Goodbye to that thought.

I saw something yesterday.
I saw proof of things that I missed.
I watched seniors graduate from high school.

I saw more than my typical regrets of say, how I never went to high school or how I never went to prom.
I never walked with a cap and gown and graduated with a real class.
I never went to driver’s education.
I never had a high school sweetheart

I don’t think I want to say goodbye to this part though.
No.
I think I want to keep this with me because I realize, more and more; certain phases of life come with once-in-a-lifetime chances.
So, take them
be unafraid.
Go all out and play your had and bet all you have
Go “All-in!” whenever the chance comes.
Ad if I lose . . .
fuck it.
I’ve lost before.

I cannot change what was. No.
I cannot fix the broken pieces and replace the skin that was either disfigured or scarred by old playground bullies.
I cannot have anyone unsay their unkind things.

Goodbye to this too.
Goodbye to the things I never wanted to let go of because the outcomes flew out of my control.
And goodbye to the things that did not work out.
Goodbye to the reasons behind the old perceived failures. 
Goodbye to my letdowns
Fuck them too.
I don’t need them anymore.

Goodbye to the perpetration of emotional and physical violence.
Goodbye to the abuse.
Goodbye to my regrets.
Goodbye to the fights that I kept alive and rehearsed in my head.
I did this, just in case they ever happen again.
But they never did, so unfortunately, my rehearsals bled on underserving bodies
Goodbye to the gun-shy, emotional flinches which is my fear that pain will revisit or return as soon as I let my guard down.

Come for me. . .
No one can hurt me worse than I’ve hurt myself.

Come to think of it . . .
There was a girl who I saw as she laid on the black pavement. She was dead from a car that caused her to fly in the air, bounce off the car behind, and then finally after being bashed and flipped, she was ultimately crushed by a limousine.
This was Christmas time. I remember.
I felt nothing.

I see her face in my dreams. She was a young Mexican girl, wholesome looking and pure like a young Azteca or Mayan princess. She looked wholesome and holy too, like a young woman about to blossom as if to be a Heavenly child of ancient gods who appreciated their worship at El Castillo or the pyramids and the temples in the Yucatan.

She had almond shaped eyes. Dark and beautiful like her long black hair.
her eyes were dark but the whites were bright and beaming beneath a full moon with the streetlights shining down on a main street called Old Country Road.
I remember the dark and watery blackness of blood, which spilled out from beneath her head. I remember how the dark blood spread out like a blackish pool, like a deep red halo, growing wider ad her blood left the empty portion under her head..
I was so different then.
I hate this part of my past.
I was unemotional, as if death or “her death,” was meaningless, like a fish to the fisherman or beef to the butcher.
It’s just business.

I was so matter-of-fact and hateful.
I was capable of worse and demon-like, and unforgivingly hateful.

Yet, there I was, standing as a witness to the last expression the young girl made before leaving her body.
She was destroyed in the physical sense.
Goodbye to this. And at the same time, hello to my awareness.
Hello to my understanding of the contrast between my goodness during evil times.
it was there all the time.
I just hid from it.
(understand?)

Hello to the new days ahead of me.
Hello to the new hopes and the new promise and hello to the forgetfulness of what took place.
Hello to the sights and the sounds and the understanding that all the falsehood and all the fake or plastic lies are behind me.

Goodbye to the knifepoint and the outrage and goodbye to the senseless hatred.
Goodbye to the bullies and the sworn revenge.

Hello to the new days and to the new dawns and hello to the tomorrow that will bury my yesterdays and put them further and further behind me. 

I have things that I will hold sacred.
And I have memories that come for me, only to prove that the lies were just lies.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.

And yes. It was all a lie.
My past.
Goodbye to this.
And hello to you
Hello to the truth.
Hello to my new life.

Even if I am like a dog, too old to be taught new tricks.
At least I can try
And no one can stop me.
Not even you –