I look back on my life and I see the happy times, but even those memories are laced through every fibre with regret. Awesome nights out with friends, where I lament not saying something or doing something, or feel terrible, disproportionate guilt for something I did say or do. Little innocuous things I did or said ten years ago are as clear in my mind as though they happened yesterday.
I have done terrible, awful things. In the grand scheme of things, these things I have done are no worse than what any body else has done; drank too much and offended a friend; told people I loved them when I should have kept quiet; snapped at someone for no ostensible reason… But I remember it all with almost perfect clarity.
The subjects I consider to have been slighted have long since forgotten these discretions, and why wouldn’t they? They’re completely innocuous. Everyone does stupid things under the influence of alcohol or youth or - as I have since come to realise - mental illness. Water under the bridge. But I cannot let go.
And it works the other way, too. People have said things to me that have long been forgotten by everyone around, and I cannot let it go. Years after an apology has been issued and accepted, it’ll still haunt me and infiltrate the way I see the people involved.
One of the the things about depression is that the sufferer does tend to overthink scenarios and situations past, wallow in regret and self pity. It’s a destructive way of thinking, but it’s not as though I want to think like this. If I could consciously repress things - or even better, perceive things ‘normally’ - I most certainly would. Maybe if I ever get off the waiting list for cognitive behavioural therapy and get to see someone, I’ll be able to do that.
Until then, my brain is at the same time gaol and gaoler, cell and interrogator, Doctor Ludovico and his sinny screen.
I am trying to be a good man, and a better person. Even now, I am completely aware of my recent fuck ups and the guilt is so, so very heavy. I still continue to use people, to offend, to upset, to hurt. Guilt’s all well and good, but I need to stop doing this! I want to be a good man. Problem is, after a while you learn to accept that you’re a horrible person, hating yourself with each indiscretion. Yeah, I’m an arsehole, but at least that’s expected of me.
I’m tired of it all. I’m exhausted. I don’t know who I am or who I want to be. How does one even figure that out? Is it even possible?