I have a lot of regrets. Oh. No regrets akin to skeletons buried in the backyard. A couple in a closet, maybe! These are the kind of silly things that I obsess over every few months. Things from my past that I have no control over anymore. Events that I wonder today were even real in any sense. The intentions marred by memories now vague. I wonder if I could have known better, made choices differently.
On the other hand, practically there is no doubt in my mind that I made the best decision with the knowledge I had then. But there are often times that I think back to the bad times. And it worries me. I’m not sure why while I’m fretting.
Eh! That’s not true.
I do know why. It’s usually when someone passes a random comment with no thought or intention. Or something happens in the news that is similar to what I have experienced.
People having opinions about things they “think” they know about but not having walked in the shoes of another, they clearly do not!
It disturbs me. This confidence in ignorance. But that’s neither here nor there. For my worrying would have nothing to do with what THEY think. My words would have NO effect on their ways.
How do I bring about a change then? An effective one? One that matters and makes me leave this worry chair that’s rocking to nowhere.
Writing in My Journal
I pen down my experiences. Writing it down helps me heal. Even just the outlines. Random words that are only connected for me. (We don’t want any one else getting their hands on it, after all!) When the ink hits the paper, my memories seem more real but also far, faaaaaaaaaaar away.
Creating Pieces of Writing
Penning it down and hitting publish, though. That’s another story. What do I get by sharing my pain?
Making listables of my mistakes. Fictional, twisted, exaggerated versions of the past. Poetry from moments gone by. A book of confessions, as I have done recently.
Is it me being brave? Is it me processing it all? Or is it me hiding it in pretty words so I can turn truth into perception. Maybe all? But it sure does give me hope.
Hope that others may find the words cathartic. That they will read and decide better. Maybe, just maybe, someone else will NOT make the same mistakes.
Someone else might think, “Hmmm. I’m going through this. I’m not alone. This has happened before. “
And yet another might use my words to figure out a way to NOT to let these things happen at all.
That others might find solace, success or solution where I hadn’t.
Words. Penned down. Powerful. Brave. Medicinal.
And THAT makes Me smile!
