Choices

I’ve made poor choices in my life.  For some reason I can’t stop beating myself up for them.  For them.  I write this like “they”, the choices, made me do it when in reality I wasn’t making the most of what I was given.  What everyone is given.  I blame it all on myself.  Sometimes though I blame it on my parents.  Not because I think they were bad parents but because I think they were also not informed.  They did not inform me of all the choices that I could have had.  And it’s not just their fault either.  Saying that I’m disappointed in myself for the choices I have made sounds as if I’m saying that I’m unhappy with Rob or Luke.  It has nothing to do with them.  It’s very conflicting in my mind because I believe so much in….well, here let me share with you my favorite quote from one of my favorite books Eat, Pray, Love:

“I thought about one of my favorite Sufi poems, which says that God long ago drew a circle in the sand exactly around the spot where you are standing right now. I was never not coming here. This was never not going to happen.”

But why do I still let it haunt me?  Why do I do that to myself?  Myself.  I am supposed to love and support myself.  If I can love my friends unconditionally and love them most of all for their quirkyness, why can’t I love myself that way?  I’m not even sure what I’m measuring myself against.  Maybe the person I daydreamed I’d be while I sat in 8th grade math listening to Mr. Zwiers.  I had no interest in that math.  I wrote a book that year in math and I remember he held it up in front of me and said, “If you focused on math like you focused on this book, you’d have an A in this class.”  I didn’t like math.  I liked writing.  Still do, as a matter of fact.  I think about it a lot, mostly when I lay in bed about the book I want to write, I almost laugh out loud at the stories it would contain.  But then the ghost appears and whispers, “Who would want to read a book about your life?  They read Chelsea Handler’s book because she’s famous, no one is gonna read a book about you.”

But then there’s this quote from the same book:

“There’s a crack (or cracks) in everyone…that’s how the light of God gets in.”

Who doesn’t want to read about other people’s cracks?  I mean, that’s the nice part, knowing that you are not the only one who is cracky.

It’s just one of those days, when the ghost has paid me a visit and I want to tell them the haunt is over, but I sort of know in my heart it’s not true.  I’m not too sure how to stop it or stop myself from doing this to myself.

But if I were to ever write a book, I would title it Eat, PREY, Love.  It would be how I much I loved to eat and what, the victims boys I preyed on, and the love I thought they had for me but totally didn’t.

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4 Comments

  1. I would read it!

    Reply
  2. If you want to write, I think you should write. Don’t write to be read – write to write. People will read – I’m so sure of that.

    Reply
  3. Anonymous

     /  April 21, 2009

    You totally should. Just start writing and don’t stop. And you don’t stop. What song is that??? ms

    Reply
  4. floridagal

     /  April 21, 2009

    i will read it….so stsrt working on it now. i will come back for a status check 🙂 🙂 🙂

    Reply

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