Little Bill

It’s never as bad as you think it is. That’s the lesson I’ve learned this weekend. This weekend was utter shit, both with my family and personal life. I expect more bad news in the future, and I’m even resigned to the loss of hope for the best. Still, it’s never as bad as I think it is.

That’s because there are lessons taken away from, that can — and will — be taken away from this. The lesson, this time, is to not compare myself to you. Any of you.

It’s the same as what they say, making mountains out of molehills. If you feel you’ve dug yourself into a hole, it’s not nearly as deep as it seems. The very effort to save yourself, no matter how hard it feels, is the first step.

What’s better, is that my molehills aren’t even that steep.

I’ve got this, this is no problem.

And anyone who wants to leave me in their dust are now severely lacking in something wonderful. I may be up shit creek, but I’ve got a paddle.

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I’m okay with the cliché abuse in this entry. Ha.

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Addendum: After talking to my good friend Rachael, it turns out that the shit creek I thought I was in might just be shallow mud. Excellent. Crisis potentially averted.

I’m not sure what to say. The last seven or so has been a whirlwind, starting with utter bliss. Laughter, kisses, bagels and wet socks. Sleep with contentment, without feeling restless. And yet there were no promises made, nor any kept, but perhaps a little bit of optimism in the air. It was grand.

A week later and it’s all come crashing down. I’m finding myself in the lowest place I’ve been in a long time — perhaps ever — not just emotionally but physically as well. I’m restless, lost, confused, guilty, at fault, and certainly not a victim.

I don’t know who I am anymore — and no, I’ve never based self-worth on the validation from others. I just don’t know who I am anymore.

And yet there’s still a few pluses, if you can call it that. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a silver lining. More like life saying to me, “lighten up, you’re only knee-deep in shit, you’re not wading in it.”

I come home and I see what a real nightmare can be. And I’m reminded that, as bad as my life gets, and as bad as life can be here, there’s always someone worse off than me.

And I keep going. I just wish, for once, it wasn’t alone. That said, I’d rather be alone than be with someone who doesn’t want me.

Still, it doesn’t mean there’s no pain,— even if I’m the guy who drove the knife in the first place.

Sometimes you don’t expect the quiet. On Bedford Ave. At 11am.

It’s hard to explain but there’s a difference in the way a car drives down the street in the winter than in the other seasons. I’m not sure what it is. The pitch is higher, the sound of the tires rolling down the street more crisp, and there’s a quiet solitude towards it.

No one is out yet on a Sunday morning at 11am. It’s too cold yet.

The sound reminds me of home — where I want to think things are simpler, easier, slower. But really there’s no difference between here and there. People can find themselves stagnant, stubborn and selfish there just as anywhere else. People can find themselves just as difficult, or fun, or full of zest.

You keep thinking there’s always something better out there. When I lived in my hometown it was here.

Now that I live here I want to point my finger elsewhere. Another neighborhood, another subway stop, another borough, another state, another coast. Something better is only found within. And that’s the most frightening part. Changing requires taking a hard, honest and critical look. Not with the aim of self pity, nor self destruction, but with self-improvement.

So, as another set of tires comes rolling down the street, I take a deep breath and realize that I’ve already arrived. Now it’s time to make my move.