I was wronged, and I was wrong.

I have been trapped in my head a lot lately. I think this is partly due to some unresolved trauma from this month last year… Wow, it doesn’t feel like it’s been a year.

I still miss her so much. And I keep thinking about my life, all the good times and the bad… she always made it better. I can’t believe she’s gone.

But looking back on my life, I don’t know which came first: me being wrong or me being wronged. When so much of your life has been one huge trauma after another, you begin to reject happiness in any form, because it seems like a scam. Like a setup for another shit storm. You start panicking if it’s been a while since something shitty happened, because you know overdue books cost more with every passing day.

No matter how hard I try, I just can’t believe that another hell waits at the end of this one.

Yes, I have done so many things I regret, and have been selfish and shitty without even realizing it. But I’ve also been really tossed around in the waves of humanity. I have never been perfect, and I will never be perfect, and anyone who expects perfection of me needs to try holding themselves to the same standards.

I keep trying. I always try to be better. These days, I just find it increasingly difficult to do even the things I enjoy. It’s been bubbling under the surface for a long time, but this is the first time I’m really saying it. I need help. I can’t keep using the same toxic coping strategies I always use, because I have some people I want to get better for. People I love, who I want to protect.

I need to remind myself of this every day. I need to print pictures of faces and keep them in a place I can’t escape. Pictures of the people who are gone that I wish I’d done more for. Pictures of those still alive who I want to do anything for.

I say want to because I do, but until I can force myself to get better, I can’t say I will do anything for them without being disingenuous. I think I will, and I truly do want to. But I have to actually take the necessary steps, and I know how hard it is and how long I’ve been telling myself “no more” and then just continuing the same habits. So I don’t trust my mouth to write checks I can’t necessarily cash. No more promises until I can keep the ones I make to myself.

I intend to take better care of myself, to apply for health care, to seek professional psychiatric help, and to become someone worthy of the people who love me. No promises, but I will try my best.

And to everyone I have hurt with my bullshit, I know sorry doesn’t cut it. I wish I had something more I could say, but I don’t. I am sorry, though. And even if you’ve dumped me because you got sick of my shit, I’ll still be printing your face to put on my motivation wall under “people I’ve failed.” I miss you.