Closure

There is something indefinitely fulfilling in reaching inside yourself and finding something broken, and being able to mend it back together in a way that years ago you assumed to be impossible. There is also something about this which almost strikes you as embarrassing, as if you had waited for so long for nothing, simply out of fear. Regret is a powerful thing, made moreso when you realize what kept you from coming to terms with "it" was being afraid of your own shadow.

I made a giant step in the right direction last weekend, taking advantage of the Memorial Day weekend to plug an old leaky hole that had been letting a drip go on for way too long, and the fact it only took a few hours out of my day to come to an understanding, and to find peace, told me more about myself than most of the experiences I've had in the 20-some odd years of my existence. What I'm afraid of most, perhaps of all, is letting go of things that no matter how awful they might be, largely made me who I am today. The caring, thoughtful person I strive to be today (and to an extent I certainly am) stems in large part from my adolescence as a selfish prick, longing for a quick fix at every turn and displaying a general lack of empathy for everything and everyone around me. I wasn't a bad kid; I almost always obeyed orders, was polite and at times even outright demure, but at the end of the day my own well-being came so far out in front of others in terms of importance that I made a continual habit of missing the forest for the trees.

And then, things changed. Cemeteries began filling up with gravestones of those I knew, and I managed to find ways to let down other loved ones in my life. While these events would prove to be traumatic for anyone, the cross I carried from then on was mostly self-designed. I took these tragedies personal (some deserved, most however not so), made them a part of my being, and essentially lived my life as an act of pity. I was at fault for everything, and a complete change in who I was, and how I viewed the world around me, was in order.

To be fair, NONE of this is as nearly dark as it sounds. I still had fun, still drank, still fucked, and otherwise from the surface lived the life of a normal young adult with hormones and a penchant for deriving pleasure. Yet, inside there was something burning that told me to be a certain someone; be someone who loved unconditionally, and be someone who would never betray. Not out of an honest appreciation for my fellow man, but because of sheer guilt.

What I'm learning now is I don't need an excuse or some inner driving force to command my emotions. I can love simply for the sake of loving. Perhaps I've been doing such all along, I just convinced myself there must have been some other power. There is none. Only me.

And I like that.