Growing Pains: Mistakes

"Bellow it out with all the breath in my lungs. Apologize for all that I've done. You did a number on me and a fantastic job. In the scheme of all things we never felt. When your hearts been breached and your guards been let down. You've rotten and spoiled me into the ground. And a good mess forgives all the rest we allow."- Automatic Loveletter, Unhearted 

Mistakes. We’ve all made them. It’s part of this whole figuring out who I am/where I fit in this world. Me? I’ve made mistakes. Many mistakes. In fact, scratch that. I’ve made so many mistakes in the recent past that I’d like to run and hide in my bed and die sometimes. Bad mistakes. The one's where you are absolutely digusted and horrified that you could have ever thought engaging in such repulsive, reckless behaviour was acceptable. However, I’d like to think that I’ve gotten to a point where I realize how fucked up what I had been doing was, and have successfully managed to move on without tripping over my own feet. In fact, I’m very proud to say that I have a much more positive relationship with myself than I did just a few weeks ago. But even that comes with its costs.
    
     You know what mindfuckingly blows about mistakes? Mistakes that involve other people, those close to you. And knowing the nature of mistakes, they most often than not do. I’ve lied, done things I’m not proud of, and pushed people away who I really cared about because of the recent mistakes I’ve made. In fact, people have cut me out of their life because of them. But you know what is not fair? When someone who has cut you out of their life mysteriously reinserts themselves back into your life, with no warning. Someone who meant a lot to you for some unforsaken, illogical reason. Someone you thought you would never hear from again. And then one day, when you least expect it, BAM, there it is in your inbox. The person you spent hours choking on tears because of. You know, when you curl yourself up into the smallest ball possible and think you’re about to asphyxiate yourself because you can’t breathe? That crippling, immobilizing heartbreak that informs you, whether you were aware of it or not, that you were in love with someone.  Yeah, that was me a few months ago.

     And that’s the shitty thing about mistakes. As soon as this person re-enters your life, you’re automatically in the position of trying to prove that you’re a changed person. That you’re honest, and willing to own up to your mistakes and explain everything. But how can you do that? They tell you that they want to be friends with you again and see how things go, but that they “need to know you’re a different person.” Great. Just fucking great. How can you prove to someone who already is skeptical and holds preconceived notions about how you are that you have stepped away from that vile, disgusting person you were just a few weeks ago? You sit there, and in your head you list of all of the changes that you’re going to tell this person. All of things you’ve done and plan to do as a different person. And you intend on promising to this person over and over again that you’re willing to do ANYTHING to change their mind about you. But you know what? It’s futile. All of it is fucking FUTILE as shit.

     As much as this person tells you, “I can’t forget the past, but I'm not going to dwell on it,” they can’t. It’s just not fucking possible. Any anyone who tells you that is a liar. Because once you start to admit to the falsehoods you shrouded yourself and your relationship in during the months that you were together with this newfound sense of honesty and openness, he can’t handle it. He’s disgusted by you, and what an awful person you were. Except in his mind, all of that isn’t past tense. It’s present tense. You ARE a bad person, regardless of any changes you’ve made. And he makes it his mission to interrogate you and antagonize you over the mistakes you’ve made. It’s bad enough that that YOU yourself have had to deal with the repercussions of what you’ve done. But now, not only are you being reminded of them, you are being reprimanded for them. You’re told by this saintlier-than-thou person that they too have made mistakes, but that at least they were forthcoming about their imperfections in the first place. I GET IT! I MADE FUCKING MISTAKES! A BUNCH OF FUCKING MISTAKES! Obviously now if you have decided to come back into my life you are going to learn about them, because part of moving on is admitting to the shit you’ve done. But they can’t let them go. In their mind you will always be an inferior, tainted version of the person that you have been struggling to become. Well thank you very much Mr. Self-Righteous. I needed you to provide me with a glimmer of hope that things were on their way to reparation, and then to watch in crumble as I stumble for words to appease you as you lash out at me for the wrong I’ve done. And they will sit there, maintaining contact with you all the while looking for excuses to cut themselves out of your life again. Why? For that, I have no answer. To feel morally superior perhaps? To convince themselves that they gave you, the unfixable fuck up, another shot? To feel better when they go to sleep at night? I have NO FUCKING CLUE.

     The only thing I am certain about is that unless you are willing to overlook the past and commit to avoid making the same mistakes in the future, you can’t move forward with anyone who you’ve hurt with your past mistakes. You’re fighting an uphill, losing battle of proving yourself over and over again to someone who is never going to believe you. Never going to trust you. And never going to accept that losing them in your life was one of the most profound things that happened and screamed at you to start making some changes. Because YOU made mistakes.

     So I sit here, with that gut-wrenching butterfly/anxiety of, “Am I really going to try to go through this all over again for him?” I can’t. Going through the motions of an already failed relationship only to know that you are powerless with the outcome this time because of those wonderful MISTAKES is too draining. To go through the cycle of loss-regain-loss would be too heartbreaking, and I can tell you for sure that I’m still recovering from the initial loss I faced a few months ago. So please, Mr. Self-Righteous, do us both a favour, and either agree to start fresh and use my current and future actions as a benchmark for determining the type of person I am or just cut yourself out of my life this time for good.

     Like a Band-Aid. Rip it off fast. I promise I won’t fall to pieces this time.    

Individuality in Your 20s: Really Conformity?

“The reward for conformity was that everyone liked you except yourself.”  ~Rita Mae Brown, Venus Envy

     Today was one of those enlightening coffee shop conversations. You know, the ones where you sit inside a coffee shop that sells way overpriced caffeinated beverages and sit and ponder the questions of the universe. Or, in my case, drag a friend to and pour over this thing we call the “quarter life crisis” of our twenties. So here we sat, dwelling over the fact that we were both about to be graduates in less than four months, the anxieties of not finding a job, being confused, etc. etc. This is where the conversation becomes epic. So I poetically chime in that I feel frustrated with the whole notion of trying to find myself, my life’s purpose, where I fit in. The response I get: “You fit in just fine. You’re mainstream.”  Um, excuse me? I’m what now? Oh yeah, that’s right, you just called me MAINSTREAM. Sensing my mild offense to his comment, he continued, “Well, I mean look at you, with your plaid shirts, tattoos, hipster haircut. You fit in just fine. In fact, you look like you could have just walked out of Queen Street West.” Although my initial response was to fight him to the death about what an individualist I was, and how unique I was, I realized that if anything, he was right.

     This brings me to my thoughts about the search for individuality and the inevitable conformity that ensues throughout your twenties. We enter our twenties so full of vigour and fervour, convinced we have a firm sense of identity established during our late teens. We are young, unique, and badass, and each of us is convinced that we possess such a wild, different perspective on life and how to do things and no one is going to tell us any different. Then we encounter peer pressure. Yeah, you know. Good old reliable peer pressure. Or peer influence. Call it what you will. We begin to take on aspects of those we encounter, those we hold closest, and those who we admire from afar. The aesthetic exterior, the mannerisms, the ways of speaking all become internalized into parts of who we are. And although we desperately try to hold onto those pieces of ourselves that once made us unique and “different from the rest,” we slowly give those pieces away from aspects that seem to “fit better” with who we should be according to others, not who we want to be according to ourselves.

     I guess that’s the uncomfortable, awkward thing about this search for ourselves in our twenties. It gets to the point where you look in the mirror and realize you aren’t the person you used to be, or even close to the person you want to be. Removed from all social influences, alone with yourself in front of the mirror, you don’t even recognize the person who’s staring back at you. That’s the point where I’ve gotten to, standing there, looking at myself asking, “What’s this all for?” So I guess that’s what this year is going to be for me, the search to re-individualize myself and start embracing aspects of me that make me “me,” and getting rid of those aspects that serve to satisfy other people’s ideal version of me.

It’s going to be a long year.