Regret
You know how, half the time, when someone has last words to say before they die, it is typically along the lines of "I regret nothing."? Or they would, if they could? How they've basically died with nothing left to do, and ultimately, to themselves, fulfilled?
I wish I could truthfully say I was like that. Unfortunately, I have this thing about lying to myself. I hate it.
I don't remember when I started, honestly. When I started thinking in-depth about this, and about all of the fuck-ups I had done. About how I had effectively screwed myself over all this fucking time. I blamed all sorts of other things for everything, really. All sorts of other things, and other people; but...it's not like blame changes the fact that I was the one who honestly did fuck everything up. All for myself.
I keep looking back, and thinking, "if only I had done this differently," "if only I had done this," "if only I didn't do that," "if only," "if only," "if only." I know that there are no second chances; there is no rewind, there are no retries. And yet, I keep looking back and thinking. If this isn't a sure sign I have fucked myself over, I honestly don't know if it is humanly possible to do such a thing. I kept ignoring what I could've done, what chances, no, opportunities I did have, and instead sat and wished for something more, chasing after the permanently inaccessible. I didn't recognize the opportunities for what they were, for what they could've become, for what I could have done with them, but instead...did nothing, ultimately. In chasing after what could never be obtained, I had wasted a lot, to say the least. I don't know why I did; maybe it was some subconscious attempt to make myself worth something. That maybe if I can do something that others haven't, then I could be more than just "that guy." Yeah, some fucking accomplishment I managed to make. Absolutely NOTHING.
And...as I think back on it, at times I almost burst into tears. Why, I don't know. What is there to lament? The fact that I had screwed up my own damn life so much? The life that I screwed up all on my own? The feeling that it has been permanently so, and I don't get a second chance? Whatever it is, my feeling is probably, at best, unfounded in anything that was, is, or ever will be worth giving even barely a flying fuck about. Why should I? And yet, why do I? I shouldn't care about all those times I fucked up; it's in the past, and I can't undo any of it, no matter what. There are no second chances. And yet...I find myself wishing to turn back time, and do things differently, to see if I could've made my life better.
And so here I am, manipulating systems in order to beat out probability and become, in a way, that which I envy so much. And then when probability still swings against me, I lose it. All over a diversion that just so happens to be an escape from reality.
Am I pathetic? Most likely. Does anyone care? Probably nothing outside of pity.
I wish I could truthfully say I was like that. Unfortunately, I have this thing about lying to myself. I hate it.
I don't remember when I started, honestly. When I started thinking in-depth about this, and about all of the fuck-ups I had done. About how I had effectively screwed myself over all this fucking time. I blamed all sorts of other things for everything, really. All sorts of other things, and other people; but...it's not like blame changes the fact that I was the one who honestly did fuck everything up. All for myself.
I keep looking back, and thinking, "if only I had done this differently," "if only I had done this," "if only I didn't do that," "if only," "if only," "if only." I know that there are no second chances; there is no rewind, there are no retries. And yet, I keep looking back and thinking. If this isn't a sure sign I have fucked myself over, I honestly don't know if it is humanly possible to do such a thing. I kept ignoring what I could've done, what chances, no, opportunities I did have, and instead sat and wished for something more, chasing after the permanently inaccessible. I didn't recognize the opportunities for what they were, for what they could've become, for what I could have done with them, but instead...did nothing, ultimately. In chasing after what could never be obtained, I had wasted a lot, to say the least. I don't know why I did; maybe it was some subconscious attempt to make myself worth something. That maybe if I can do something that others haven't, then I could be more than just "that guy." Yeah, some fucking accomplishment I managed to make. Absolutely NOTHING.
And...as I think back on it, at times I almost burst into tears. Why, I don't know. What is there to lament? The fact that I had screwed up my own damn life so much? The life that I screwed up all on my own? The feeling that it has been permanently so, and I don't get a second chance? Whatever it is, my feeling is probably, at best, unfounded in anything that was, is, or ever will be worth giving even barely a flying fuck about. Why should I? And yet, why do I? I shouldn't care about all those times I fucked up; it's in the past, and I can't undo any of it, no matter what. There are no second chances. And yet...I find myself wishing to turn back time, and do things differently, to see if I could've made my life better.
And so here I am, manipulating systems in order to beat out probability and become, in a way, that which I envy so much. And then when probability still swings against me, I lose it. All over a diversion that just so happens to be an escape from reality.
Am I pathetic? Most likely. Does anyone care? Probably nothing outside of pity.