cat. 28. portland. confused and not figuring it out.
I’m surrounded again by the parts of me that I took there. Literally and figuratively all the things have been returned. Plants to bread. Photos of myself and pieces we shared. Home now. Again. Where I live. Alone. The phone lies silent to match my tears and still my head spins with what ifs and whys and why not and never again and oh please I don’t wanna do this don’t go. Please. But here is it. Here I am. And sometimes those tears scream, loud like the things I hear when I see how much that jade has grown. The time that’s passed, that’s gone now. There isn’t enough sage to burn you away. The marks you leave on another stay. Scars permanent, the heart doesn’t get a free pass. There is no rewind. There is no erasing feeling. So wonderful it would be to forget. The good and bad together. Wiped clean with only the scar as an old reminder. Of what I wished it were and what it never could be. But oh how I tried.
Wrong choices are the only kind I make. And I do so over and over and with such precision that one would think I should have mastered the art by now. Apparently I’m still learning. I’ll just keep on choosing the bad choices and leaving a mess of tears in my wake. My own and those of others. What’s worse is continuing to replay the *exact same* bad choice over and over, for some kind of self loathing, self punishment. My engrained patterns. Maybe if I bang my head on the wall again, it won’t hurt this time. Ouch. But worst of all, is being struck by such fear that I can’t move toward the light. I keep myself in this dark place, where at least I feel like I’m being treated as I deserve. Because who am I but a terrible maker of choices, and an even more terrible human being.