I have lived a life full of regrets. From the very beginning, nothing ever came easy. I was born with a mother who died in childbirth and a father who wasn't fit enough to raise me. As a result, I never got to experience the bond of family. Instead, I was thrust into the foster care system at a young age. The memories of that time are fragmented, scattered within my mind like pieces of a broken mirror. Truth be told, I don't have many recollections of it at all. The people who adopted me were interesting, to say the least. Yet, there's not much about them in my memory either. What I do remember, though, is how their public image always came first. The difference between their public and private lives was staggering, to put it lightly. But despite everything, I never surrendered to the battle between me and my inner self. I held out my hand, reaching and clawing at hope, because without hope, I would have absolutely nothing. And that's what terrified me the most. My dreams, aspirations, and longing for what I never got to have were what kept me going. "Where did it all go wrong?" I used to ask myself. But to be honest, it never even began.
We humans instinctively want to experience life to its fullest, often forsaking what's beneficial to us for the fleeting feeling of satisfaction. I did what I had to do to survive; there was no enjoying myself back then. Every waking day was dedicated to my mere existence, to just making it to the next day. With that mentality, I did things I can't even express, so deeply ashamed of them am I. If I could go back and change everything, I would do it in a heartbeat. But it's never that easy. There is no undoing my sins. I have to carry the burden alone, locking it away where nobody can find it. If they did, I couldn't even begin to grasp what their reactions would be.
I know there are many more people out there worse off than me, but it doesn't make me feel any better. It might for some, but in my opinion, it's just a way to make yourself feel better about who you are. Change has always been an option for me, but I never reached for it, nor did I acknowledge it. I am to blame, and so is my upbringing. But if I had to be completely honest, it's myself I blame more than anything. So, when I finally got what was coming to me, I accepted it with open arms.
The weight of my decisions has been my constant companion, a shadow that follows me wherever I go, regardless of the light I find myself in. It's a heavy burden, one that presses down on me, a constant reminder of what I've done and what I've become. There's no escaping it, no way to forget or ignore the past. It's woven into the very fabric of who I am. Every time I look in the mirror, I see the reflection of the person I wish I wasn't, a person shaped by a life that never gave me a chance.
I often wonder what life would have been like if things had been different. What if I had been born into a family that loved and cherished me? What if I had grown up with the support and guidance that every child deserves? Would I have made different choices? Would I have become someone I could be proud of? Or was this path always my destiny, a road paved with the shallow regrets of an individual like me?
I've tried to make amends, to right some of the wrongs I've done, but it's never enough. The damage has been done, and no amount of self-loathing or superficial good deeds can erase the bygones. It's like trying to fill a bottomless pit no matter how much you pour into it, it's never enough. And so, I've come to accept that this is who I am. No matter how many times I swore to myself that it would be the last time, or that I would change, it was all just a bunch of bullshit I created to feel a sense of redemption that would never come to pass.
As people, we are biased about our individual selves. We understand that our actions have wronged those around us, yet we still find ways to make ourselves feel like the victim. It's in our nature, and no matter how we put on a face and apologize, we still feel inside like we were the ones who were wronged. Or maybe that's just me a person on the verge of death, reliving the fleeting moments of his life and drowning in regret. I wonder if this is the afterlife around me. Have I come to pass on and finally put everything behind me? I wonder where I'll go Heaven or Hell? I wouldn't call myself a pious believer in God, but I do believe in the existence of a higher being.
Hell is what I think is most fitting for me. There were countless people in the world who were genuinely good, and I wasn't one of them. How I envy them. Maybe if I had their circumstances, things would have turned out differently. Or maybe this was my fate all along, my destiny, and those countless times I attempted to change were futile in the face of my predestination. Beneath all of that, there's a side of me that doesn't regret a damn thing. And that's why I'm so engrossed by myself because behind all of the self-loathing and regret, there's the real me, the part of me that I hate the most. The part of me that I wish never existed. It blames the world and humanity for the way my life turned out, and no matter what horrendous, awful deed I did, it claims it was all in the fight for my survival.