My Journal: August 24th 2015

Blame

Things always happen for a reason and most of the time we don’t know what that reason is. Sometimes, we do know the cause but we refuse to admit the truth. Blame is easy when the compass needle is pointing away from you. But what happens when the fault lies squarely on you and you are the foundation of the problem? Simple. Stand up, take responsibility and start looking for solutions.

Solving the blame issue is often a complex and difficult process. In most cases, blame is paired with guilt, sadness and sometimes denial. People feel guilt for circumstances outside their control and that leads to depression, feelings of worthlessness and in extreme instances–suicide. Placing blame on yourself for something you have no control over can only make the situation worse.

Accepting blame for something you caused or you believe is your doing is a step towards reconciliation within yourself. You may not be able to bridge the problem with others, but at least you can come to terms with yourself and start the healing process. Taking responsibility is crucial in moving forward towards new and amazing things.

I blame myself for my failure as a husband and the damage I caused in my nearly twenty years of marriage. I blame myself for the eventual divorce and bitterness that is associated with separation. I blame myself and take full responsibility for my actions and the subterfuge that came from my actions or inactions. It’s my fault and I’m trying to learn to be okay with that.

I read quite a bit and always find comfort in the passages of certain authors. I’ve been reading Kahlil Gibran for years and his words always calm my fears and push me towards a better day. This week I read this and it comforted me:

“That deed which in our guilt we today call weakness, will appear tomorrow as an essential link in the compete chain of Man.”
~Kahlil Gibran

  The key to healing is forgiveness and the first person you should forgive is yourself.

My Journal: August 19th 2015

   Tired Thoughts
  
   I wonder if my lingering thoughts of regret and guilt are getting tired. Do they understand how taxing the constant circling is on my weary mind? Picking them up when they fall and falter and putting them back safely into the large box simply labeled DONE. Shut the lid and the pain slowly fades away. I wish it was that simple.

Regret and guilt are my children and I’m tasked with nurturing them and feeding them and making sure they’re well tended and content. They coo quietly in my ear, lying and telling me that they’re here for some convoluted reason and that they love me–always. All the while they look for chinks in my mind’s walls and for weaknesses in my fluttering resolve. I’ve taken them in and they are mine. I’ll have to learn to live with them and smile and give them the attention they crave.

Maybe one day my children will grow up big and strong and be able to leave our home. But, today they’re young and fragile and they need me more than I need them. It’s difficult to hate something that’s been with with you for so long. But, in realizing that these thoughts are lingering inside me, I’ve taken the first step in taking full responsibility for my own emotions and personal issues. I guess that’s a start.

“Never look back, unless you are planning to go that way.”
~ Henry David Thoreau

My Journal: April 10th 2015

Full.

Today is full. I reached my tolerance level at about 8am this morning and it’ll take a miracle for it to change. Things are way too loud, people need to step back and there’s a looming, nagging feeling that something is going to happen. I can’t fit the pieces together today and if I had a viable solution, I would apply it.

Too bright…too many people…too loud…too much work. I’m lonely and tired, my head hurts, I’m angry and I want to go home–all at the same time. The windows overlooking the office parking lot leave me vulnerable and exposed right now. I want to smash my laptop and walk out the door. I want to burn the books in my apartment and rip the stuffing from my couch. I want to start walking and see how far I can get before I collapse or get arrested. I want to sit in the rain and just think by myself. I want to stop but I don’t know how.

Life isn’t always easy when you’re alone and a veteran. No matter how strong you are you still need someone. Even the most stoic warrior needs a page or a companion or a person to talk to from time to time. A person to sit with and feel with. Sometimes things all add up and the answer isn’t what you wanted to hear. I didn’t choose my joys and I definitely didn’t choose my sorrows. My mistakes define my day today and the only solution is to bear this garbage out and push forward. Fuck you Friday, April 10th 2015. The end.

“We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them.”
     ~Kahlil Gibran

My Journal: April 7th 2015

The Fog

   I drive to work through a blanket of gray fog and it feels strangely familiar and comforting. Being hidden eases the anxious fumblings and the thought of others feeling what I feel makes things seem more even and fair. The fog moves and covers and blinds and is always there.

The fog is always there. It’s there at work and in my home and it’s with me when I hide in my dreams. My mind is constantly clouded and closed–muddy and vague. People talk to me and I hear their quiet voices through thick, deaf walls of muffled silence. The fog wants to protect me but it just impotently hides me in its dim, soft-focused embrace. The fog is my constant companion even on clear, radiant days.

I drive into the fog and I never come out on the other side. The fog was there on the hilltops and in the foreign fighting. The fog was there when the love left her eyes and she turned and walked away till I couldn’t see her form. The fog was there when I lashed out at my beautiful child and my mother and told my father I wanted to die. The fog is always with me. The fog is the only constant in my life. The fog comforts me and I hate it. The fog is always there.

My Journal: March 30th 2015

D Day.

   His body armor is a cheap black suit and his only weapon is a ball point pen he shoved in his pants pocket on his way out of his apartment. He drives himself to the LZ and waits. His mind races and paces in circles of doubt and regret. He checks and rechecks to makes sure he’s got everything for the battle at hand.  Suit–check. Nice tie–check. ID–check. Pen and something to write on–check and check. Everything is a go.

The rain is coming down in ironic sheets. He was married in the rain and it’s only fitting that D Day should be dark and damp as well.  He checks his watch, the ramp drops to the ground and he steps out into the downpour. There’s no hail of bullets or mortar shells pounding the beachhead. It’s just a short walk to the front door and he’s greeted by a metal detector and a security officer. There’s no screaming enemy. There’s no sting of sand in his face or spray of blood from a fallen soldier. It’s just a building and she’ll be here soon to put a bullet in his heart and end his suffering.

The room is spartan and cold and she’s beautiful. The paperwork is laid out and they discuss the details in length with the lawyers. He doesn’t hear anything and he’s having a difficult time not looking at his shoes. Her eyes are sharp and clear. Heads nod and she pulls out her pen, cocks it and levels it at his chest. He slides his tie over to make sure nothing will interfere with the shot. She clicks it once and signs her name above his. Blood begins to soak his shirt and his vision softens. The dark stain creeps outward from his stuttering, broken heart. He looks up and smiles at her one last time.

When the Allied forces hit the beaches of Normandy, 5,600 men were cut down in the first hour. Today on this D Day, one man died in five minutes and that was the end. It rained on his wedding day and it’s raining now. How utterly fitting and perfect. The End.

“No safety or surprise
The end
I’ll never look into your eyes again.”
~The End

Posted from somewhere deep within my anger pit…