Sometimes I look through old pictures. It's like drinking a 32 ounce bottle of whisky, where it hurts and somehow makes things better. I used to pretend that I didn't want to change a thing, like the scars that I endured were my badge of pride and I'd wear them proudly 'til judgment day. I lie every time.
There are countless things I wished I'd done differently. I love my life at present, I really do. I've been more blessed than I would have ever thought possible, but I just wished I could have arrived here less...dirty. Sometimes I feel gross, like I'm covered in some kind of film of self sabotage and angst. I wish I knew then what I know now, isn't that the saying?
I didn't know how angry I was. I thought I was some kind of vaccination for anger, like it would flee at the sight of me. Turns out I just expressed it differently. Like some kind of sarcastic vitriol that I would spew as a toxic venom when I didn't understand my own emotions. All the people I knew, no matter how terrible they were, didn't deserve that. I realize now I was just trying to figure out how a child deals with adult things. I think I found myself dealing with issues two years too early. Like maturity had just barely missed the deadline, and all I could do was use my limited tool box to smash the hell out of some screw with a hammer. People were nice to me, shoot, some people were practically saints. I couldn't realize it at the time because I was so bitter, and that bitterness made me do things that I'll never get to take back. I wish I could say I'm sorry, I wish I could apologize to everyone I wronged and take back the bad taste I put in their mouth. I realize now how impossible it is, but sometimes we want the impossible.
I look at where I am now, still an amalgam of disjointed emotions and reactions. I'm far better off than I deserve, but I'm terrified that somewhere deep inside of me is that vindictive child just trying to retaliate at windmills. He comes out, every now and again, rearing his ugly head and screwing everything up. I thought we made peace, but he just went to time out waiting until I'm feeling hostile again. Fortunately he doesn't hold the wheel anymore, but there were times. There were times too long, times where it was consuming, times where it festered deep inside and burrowed it's way out. I still don't think I know how to deal with it, but it's less frequent, suppressed.
The fact that stings the most, is that I could have done so much more.
My work now helps people, maybe an atonement or maybe just a belief that other kids shouldn't have to deal with all the garbage I went through. I always find myself telling parents to emphasize impulse control and emotional regulation. Dealing with depression, and not allowing one's self to burn out. Maybe one day I'll listen to myself. But every day I'm reminded of the bridges I burn, of the cities I razed, and the ties that I've cut. I convinced myself they were toxic, only to realize that I was the most potent of all poisons. Now I can't even tell what's fact or fiction. Where do you start when you have three decades of grief? Do you let it go? Or do you start anew on the ashes of the fallen?
Is this my legacy? My legacy in a tea cup.
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