That's Life

It's the choices we make that define who we are. And I think I made a huge mistake. Because if it was the right choice, why does it feel so wrong?

Fuck.

I realise I'm quite a difficult person to get along with. I suppose it was tough enough with all the meanness last time but it must be even worse now with all my mood swings. Since a picture speaks a thousand words, I might as well paint one now. Only I can't paint so I'll describe - I look like I just enlisted. So imagine the Phang of old without the wit and sarcasm and with plenty more reticence and depression. And nope, just in case any of you is wondering, I'm not trying to make myself out to be pitiful or vicitimised; it's just that this is my blog (well at least half of it is anyway) so it's my prerogative to write whatever I want to.

Perhaps you might wonder why I'm so pessimistic. Look on the bright side of life. For your information, the guy who sang that song committed suicide. Anyway, everyone is wired differently. Many things in life are relative. Without pessimists, there wouldn't be optimists. If everyone saw the world through rose-tinted glasses, we'd have to reset the benchmark for neutrality. A guy who's trapped in a cage with tigers and believes he'll get out alive wouldn't be considered optimistic. It would take a guy who is tied up with ropes and trapped in a cage with tigers and lions which hadn't eaten in days and surrounded by snipers who still believes he'll get out alive to be considered optimistic.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate people telling me what I should do but knowing what should be done and doing what should be done is a completely different matter. Contrary to popular belief, I am fully aware that it is not possible to travel back in time, although my words and actions sometimes belie that fact. And yes I am fully cognisant of the fact that dwelling on the what if's won't change a thing and will do me more harm than good but somehow I still tend to engage in such hypothetical analyses with myself. I've come to the simple conclusion that I still have not accepted reality. Deep down, there's still this sliver of hope that the past 6 months didn't really happen :/ The dreams I've been having every night have only been serving to augment this stupid notion. Boy, this is certainly starting to sound like prime fodder for some psychological study.

Most of you wouldn't really have understood what happened then and wouldn't have known me well enough to put two and two together. So perhaps you've given up and now think that it's a better idea to let me wallow and languish in the mosh pit of sorrow that I dug for myself and I'll get out once I'm tired of it.

I feel that I owe a debt of gratitude to my friends, especially two of them. The comforting phone calls at ungodly hours of the night and beverage sessions which saw me mutter incoherent rubbish and break out into song were very much appreciated. That, on top of the innumerable occasions when I felt like absolute shit and your calls and messages made me feel better. I know it wasn't easy hearing me go on and on about the same old things (there are only so many ways I can ask the same old questions and phrase the same old feelings) but your resilience was admirable. I suppose all I wanted was a listening ear and I'm glad you had the patience to sit through it. And it wasn't exactly for a short period of time so I'm all the more grateful.

Maybe one day I'll look back on all this and reflect on what a dumb fuck I was for 6 months. For now though, I'm reflecting on what a dumb fuck I was for 3 weeks. I remember all the sacrifices you made for me; the memories are playing over and over in my head like a broken record player. Even though you didn't deserve all the bullshit I put you through, you still stuck by me because you believed. I miss you terribly. But I've no one to blame but myself really because I chose not to go back while the door was still open.

Here's some food for thought - "You never really get over someone; you just try to move on."