Your Broken Heart Doesn’t Justify Your Bullshit Selfish Behavior.

I think that because at the core of our humanity we are broken, and we have deep feelings that hurt and claw at us, and because we were good to one person or that we feel things so wholeheartedly that we think we’re good people. I feel like our connection to our own emotions tricks us into thinking that we’re good people when we’re not. I’m not a good person. I take advantage of the people around me. I take my life and those closest to me for granted. I have done terrible things for which I’ve never apologized. But for some reason, my own broken, destroyed heart decided I was a good person who didn’t understand why all of these horrible things were happening to me. I was talking to God, or the Universe, or the Great Divine, or whatever higher power there is out there. I was speaking out in pure desperation. I said, “God please, bring me the love that I want. Give me a sign. Show me that I’ll find someone other than you-know-who to love. Give me someone that I can love that will love me back as well. I am in so much pain, and I’ll never love anyone again the way that I loved him and that’s terrifying. I just want to be loved by someone I love with everything I have.” Then I stopped, paused mid-desperation prayer, and spoke aloud, “I guess I probably deserve all this. I’m not a good person. I like to think I’m a good person because I gave love and loyalty to one person that I fear I may never recover from.” What I realized in the midst of this breakdown is that maybe I don’t deserve to be happy yet. I have loose ends I’ll never tie. I have hearts I can never mend. I have the weight of all of my bad and selfish decisions on my shoulders. Until I start being a better person, I probably won’t ever have a better life. I play the victim. I play the broken-hearted writer with a soul like glass wobbling on the edge of a rickety coffee table. But I’m not GOOD. I’m not selfless. I’m selfish. I’m cruel. I’m a liar and a user and a heartbreaker and a damager. I am the man I so love that gave me nothing but heartache. I am no different than him at all. Perhaps even worse because I don’t even have an excuse. So, from now on, I’m going to try to be better. No more selfish drunken decisions that hurt others. No more playing this victim that in my own heart and soul I am, but in reality I cannot be because I’ve done everything to myself. I just hope that I can stick to trying. Stick to being this better person that I HAVE to be because otherwise I’ll never truly be happy. Even in saying this I realize how selfish I truly am. That I want to change my ways in order for the end result to benefit me, myself, and I. How tragic is that. My broken, damaged, emotional wreck of a self is not proof that I am a good person that’s had a hard life. It is proof that I am a bad person that’s given myself a lonely road to walk down. It just fucking feel so damn AWFUL because I still just want to feel true love and joy again when what I SHOULD want is to feel absolved and clear of conscience. This is hard. It’s so hard. To be this terrible person but to have all of these feelings that make lonely and depressed and dark and damaged and bogged down. Do I deserve to be happy? Probably not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it anyway.

 

So this is my existential crisis. I am not a good person. I do not make decisions that are good for those around me. I do not think of others. I think only of myself. I am selfish and cruel and coldhearted and destructive. But still…I want to be fucking happy. I am a criminal of moral. Yet I expect no jail time. I feel like this isn’t fair, but it is. More than fair. I have a family that’s there for me when I need them, I have a daughter that loves me despite my lack of motherhood skills, I have friends that actually care what happens to me despite the fact that I use them and ignore them and hurt them. What in the fuck is wrong with me?

 

I have got to be better. I have got to try. Because if I don’t…everyone around me will suffer, and I will suffer just as much. Their suffering is a direct reflection of my own. I’m just a fucking mess. And I’m not sure how to clean it up.

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