The more things change... you know the rest.

I've been going through a lot of old content from random blogs I've written in over the course of my life and it's incredible to view myself from what feels like a third person perspective over a decade later. Two things came to mind as I read through my entries and relived so many positive moments and reopened negative ones; one being that my patterns were all the same, only it's clear I did not know how to deal with them or even truly and genuinely acknowledge them, and the second thing being how the only thing that has really changed IS my ability to cope, and deal, and acknowledge.

It was hard reading some of it. I felt angry at myself for all those times I sabotaged relationships, or hurt others while lashing out due to my own personal issues. I always tell myself there are dozens of times I'd like to go back in time and slap myself in the face so hard the bruise would travel back to present time with me, but after reading more and more of my entries through a fresh set of eyes there was really only one thing left to feel. I felt sorry. I felt sorry in more ways than one.

I felt sorry for the things I did and anybody I may have hurt. I was so emotionally complex and I didn't know what I was doing. I was intelligent, and that was dangerous. I was manipulative as fuck, and I was good at it. My own personal turmoil and my inability to outlet my frustrations fueled the makings of what can only be described as a tyrant. Every time something went wrong I justified it. I justified it so well that I believed it, and I got others to believe it. I put others down who dealt with what I felt were "small" or "insignificant" issues, and droned on and on about how fucked up MY life was and how only I had the right to complain, and that I was some kind of divine being because I DIDN'T complain. And I was right about one thing, I truly didn't. Instead I let it stew, and boil, and fester, and rot, and it would all come back out of me in the form of one, giant, major fucking asshole. I can't say I've completely ditched this habit, but I can safely say it has gotten better. Still, how many of my mistakes today will become my life-altering regrets another decade from now? Who will I lose because of it? How will I justify it? I am so sorry for who I was and who I can sometimes continue to be. I am self-aware now, but as I've said before sometimes it's not enough to stop myself. Sometimes it's still easier to be angry than to be vulnerable. I'm sorry to everyone it affected. My burdens weren't yours, but you had to deal with them all the same.

I also felt sorry for myself. The yoyo-like pattern was so distinct, it was like every day I was living in an entirely different world. The same people, the same places, and yet my mood, my writing style, my personality... it was like it was the same person living two lives. I guess that's an accurate description, and yet it's like it doesn't even scrape the surface. I kept finding myself muttering "poor kid" to some of the things I'd say. Even the happy posts. I would write so many positive things in succession as if I had to reach a certain number of points on a list before I started to believe in the happiness I was trying to convey. The transparency in everything I wrote, both good and bad, was so shockingly clear that I find myself hoping to God or whoever is out there that all my friends at the time were as stupid as me. If they saw through it as easily as I can at this point in my life, oh man. The things they must have said about me behind my back. I wouldn't blame them - it would all be just.

I read about the last day I saw my niece. And the day that everything happened that ultimately led to her being removed from my family and my life. It burned so bad because it's such a painful memory and to this day I still do what I can to try and keep tabs on her. Catch glimpses of how she's doing, make sure she's doing well. She wants nothing to do with us now. I don't blame her, what happened was traumatizing and she had no choice, but to believe in her father. Whether he fed her lies or horrible truths is unknown to me, and I give up trying to solve that riddle. It was in that entry that I felt I was for once, truly honest. So honest in fact, that the description of how I felt hits the nail on the head even now.

I feel sorry for who I was, and I feel sorry for those I affected. I am trying to be a better man, a better person, a better friend, and a better human being, but somehow I know I'll have a few more flights of stairs to fall down first. My greatest hope is that I'll always have the courage and the motivation to get myself back up on my feet. Sometimes it's easy, and then sometimes it's so damn hard.

Help me Eliot. When those bad days come and the lights turn off i'm begging you please be my light.