To think that after so many years, I’m returning to this blog once
again for solace! Feels good in a way to be back, and yet at the same time it
seems almost symbolic of how I still have not been able to move on.
This morning I was told that someone from church had asked to meet up.
And I find myself recalling what Paul had said, that at some point in time, I’d
stop wanting to meet up with anyone. That thought has been ringing in my head
all day ever since.
And he’s absolutely right. I don’t want to meet up with people. I don’t
want to have to have anything to do with them.
A big part of it is shame. I’ve done something despicable and I’m no
longer able to face anyone. Another part of it is fear. I’ve already formed an
opinion of those in the church community, as I’ve posted last night. And I find
myself genuinely afraid of facing up to anyone in church again, and being hurt
again by their superficial concern. Afraid because those empty promises of “still
caring and being my friend” sound too much like all the professions of love and
steadfast fellowship in the past which I once believed. I’d rather those I meet
up with just throw hot tea in my face and curse me to hell.
It took all the courage in the world to face up to just those few I’ve
spoken to, and I find myself really too tired and drained by each experience. Drained
because it takes a lot of courage for me to confess my wrongs. Each time I do
so, I ask myself why am I still bothering to stay alive? When
I spoke to my therapist a few days ago, I mentioned that I stopped
thinking about how I should approach those I've wronged to apologize. The reason I stopped is because I was scaring myself - every single time I
started to think about that, the only notion that would enter my head
are "suicide notes", and the various scenarios by which I could play that out.
My life has been
nothing but a vicious circle of hurting people and being hurt by them. What
sort of purpose is there to my existence? All my lofty ideals of the person I want
to be has been irretrievably dashed by this blot which can never be erased.
What remains are the shattered pieces of a life which even I myself do not
believe I can ever put back together again. The Humpty-Dumpty complex is strong
in this one, yes.
I remember when I was first arrested, I was told that if those who
press charges choose to withdraw those charges, I would be alright. And I had adamantly
wished that they would not withdraw the charges, because I owed it to them. I
wanted to go through the indignity of the sentencing and incarceration because
it is rightfully what I deserved. After some time, I began wondering – is it
too much to hope that they would withdraw the charges after knowing its me?
Would they care for me enough to overcome their anger and disappointment? This
was followed by self loathing, firstly for hoping to escape my just rewards,
and secondly still clinging to any notion that they care for me.
Now, I find myself again adamant about facing up to what I’ve done and
doing my time, but now its because I feel it would allow me to call time on my
past, and finally move on. Maybe after this is all over, I can finally cut off
all ties with my past – the church, the people, the baggage. And maybe I can
then finally call time on this blog.
And move on.
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