Regrets

It’s hard not to have regrets. You can’t be the person you are without being the person you were.

Everything that has ever happened to you contributes to the person you are and will be.

I wish, a lot of times, that I had not spoken when I did, had not spoken what I did when I did… and it’s part of the neurotic melodrama that plays in my head hours, days, weeks, months afterward.

Sometimes you dial a number you know you shouldn’t, then you get trapped in a moment where you’re forced to either have the conversation you didn’t really want to have or hang up and be mortified.

Sometimes, you act out. You go home with a guy because you’re lonely and he’s there and it’s okay. Then you think… why did I do that? I never do that. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Nothing’s wrong. You take a chance. You have a moment. You either live with it or dwell on it or forget all about it.

Then weeks later, you’re doing math. Was it 4 weeks ago? Six? Seven? You start thinking about it all over again.

It starts a spiral unless you nip it in the bud. I’m trying not to spiral.

I did it. I was okay with it. I’m still kind of okay with it. I’m not particularly interested in track the dude down. I’m just… wondering. Been to the ER, had my follow up phone calls and I’m okay. I’m fine… fine-ish.

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. I think I managed it okay. I’ve talked to a couple of people here and there, people I see daily… more as a reminder that I have people around me who would be watching if something was wrong that I can’t see because I get stuck in my head.

You get ideas in your head about yourself. Having some of them confirmed is not always so reassuring. It’s one thing to think a thing but to have it scientifically confirmed is sometimes worse.

I’m fine. I will be fine.

I’m writing. I have ideas.

I’m working. I’m putting together teams that work.

I have a list of things that I need to fix at home, on my car. I’m getting them done one at a time because I haven’t worked much overtime because if it’s not one thing, it’s another that has me in bed, cursing my uterus, my esophagus, my numb leg or my bad back.

I’m hanging in there. I don’t know how thick this thread is. I don’t know how much pressure it can take.

The people that I NEED to talk to, I can’t see to bring myself to call. I’m letting the agoraphobia win the big things but not the small things. Forcing myself to do things outside of my comfort zone when the risk is acceptable. Making that my routine so that I can step outside it in bigger steps later.

I miss my buddy. Haven’t spoken to him in nearly a month. Everyone has to tell me that they ran into him here or there and then they wait. My answer is always the same. Haven’t seen him since his last day.

I miss my Laurel. I’m spewing randomness into her text feeds but not saying the things I need to say. I think she knows that and that I’ll say something when I can.

I miss my mom. Don’t know what she’d say about any of the messes I’ve made for myself in recent years.

I love my new place. I love my job. I love my friends. There could be more. There just isn’t. I don’t have the emotional room even if it presented itself. I’m not fond of other people’s honest opinions unless they match my own right now.

Maybe once I get my car going, I can get some girls together for a fun night out or something to get out of my own head.

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