I… am a liar.
I am a thief. I am a crook. I am a cheat.
I’m a narcissist, I’m a hypocrite, I’m a procrastinator. I’m crazy, victimized, and maybe a little psycho.
I’m a fraud.
Even now, as I sit before my computer on one of the rare days when Creativity, the Elusive Bitch, finally made a show, the contempt I feel about the qualities I so disgust in myself wells up in my chest, and rises to my eyeballs. I will not cry, I will not cry.
During these spells of discontent, my habit has always been to ignore the positive things about me, and rather beat myself up over whatever last thing I could think of, my self-esteem always a ready accomplice – the Curly to my Moe. And, while I am not interested in my body being a target of said whipping this go, as is my modus operandi, I will, of course, find something else to target. So, here I seem to be again, finding every last thing about me that I loathe, attacking my own integrity with a sharp knife, and combing through my life and psyche as a monkey might comb through the coat of a mate at mid-morning chatter time. I run down all of my failures- as a wife, mother, friend, employee, and more. I criticize myself for hurting others and for allowing myself to be hurt by others. And I chastise myself for not achieving my lifetime dream of being a “Famous Author”, as I had loudly called out I would be as young child of just six.
I will admit that some things I pull from the deepest recesses of my brain are mere morsels of a memory of something I did that I have convinced myself I surely ought to be embarrassed by, or something I said that I desperately wished I could reel back into my mouth, swallowing it whole, as though it never existed in the first place. Instead, it seems that these things continue to become larger than they are, and rather, I’m the one being swallowed whole.
In truth, I recognize my continued thoughts about me and my life is considered to be a classic midlife crisis. I am, after all, 41-years-old, and how the hell that happened, by the way, I have no idea.
But, by the time we’ve made it to our 40s, we’ve lived half of our life- what’s wrong with assessing things? For those like me, our kids are starting to outgrow us- and even flee the nest, we’re beginning to lose our parents, and we’ve entered what Doctor’s refer to as “the Cancer Years”. And, in truth, we’ve seen just enough of life to understand that we may possibly not be happy with the outcome of it. The midlife crisis is really just stopping to look at our lives and determine what we think. Some of us take drastic measures when confronted with their newfound recognition of unhappiness, but personally? I’m just looking to forgive myself, forgive others, and find peace.
But putting aside the obvious midlife thing, let’s look at the facts: I’m making choices- life altering choices, still, today, this late in the game. I’m fucking up all over the place- and more than once to the detriment of relationships near to me. I’ve made errors in judgement that, in hindsight, I find horrifying that I took part in willingly. And I have questioned my integrity on more than one occasion.
And, while I realize that I’m making myself out to be a horrific human being- one that, through veiled suggestions, you, as the reader may feel as equally horrified by as I have often been, I imagine just as many of you may identify with me…. I’m a human being, being human- still fucking up, still learning.
After all, as George Harrison famously sang, “With every mistake we must surely be learning.” And that’s the best I can do today.
(You can hear one of my favorite Beatles songs here… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3RYvO2X0Oo)