Little Bill

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.