It’s weird how it doesn’t hurt as much, anymore. Maybe I’ve just come to terms with the feeling and no longer acknowledge it. The slow burn of it.
It’s weird how when you want something you can’t have, you find joys in the little things. To make up for it. To fill the gap.
My self-control frays easily these days though, I live my life too much on a knife’s edge. I don’t have time, never enough time. And I don’t want any more regrets over things I haven’t done. Regrets over things I have done, those I’ll take. It means I’ve done something, at least. I took action. I made a decision and went after it. Whether for better or worse, I made a choice. And that kind of regret, that’s fleeting, that’s something you can manage.
And I do regret things. Not my actions themselves, though I probably should, but the consequences they may have. On other people. I don’t want to hurt others. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time. But if I’m selfishly following my whims, my emotions, going where the feelings take me, then invariably someone will get hurt. Me, of course, sure, but I know the risks. It’s the innocent bystanders I regret. That feeling of the bottom dropping out of my stomach at the mention of a name because I know that the damage inflicted upon them if I got what I wanted would be catastrophic.
But still, I want. I want. I can’t turn that off. Can’t change it. There are distractions, and I busy myself with other things, but I won’t deny it. I’m trying so hard to stop burying my emotions under the concern for others – it’s a personality flaw, it’s not healthy. Now I fear I’ve tipped too far the other way, putting myself first too much, too selfishly.
That’s over-thinking, though. Dramatic. My usual style. Always over-analysing, transferring, worrying. I think my life would be a thousand times simpler if I was less clever and less self-aware. But probably not as engaging.
I wonder sometimes over what kind of person I am nowadays. I do things that I would never have thought myself capable of, things I would have disapproved of. But that’s because back then I had no idea, not really, not a clue of what it was like, and what it could be. Life, I mean. I still have no idea but I’m not afraid of stumbling a little to find out. And now I know, or understand rather, that things are not black and white and neatly arranged. Things are never that simple. Things that I know I should think are a bad idea in the cold light of morning do not even give me reason to pause after a few bottles of wine in those last minutes before midnight. You can’t read people, or predict them. You can’t spend all your time planning for conversational eventualities, trying to think of every possible scenario in your head. It’s not a game of chess, no matter how much you want it to be. (That, at least, would make sense. That, I understand. That, would be easy.)
And I don’t really know anything. Except myself, as I am now, at this precise moment in time. I know what I’m feeling, right now. I know what I want, right now. The future is more uncertain for me than ever, but I know that I don’t want to dwell on it. I’m going for the things I want, right now. And they make me happy. Maybe that should be enough.