Essays

On Forgiving Yourself

By Johnny Beloved ⋅ October 6, 2007 ⋅  forward to friend ⋅  Print this post ⋅ Post a comment

My wife will tell you that I have a tendency to punish myself above and beyond what is considered reasonable. I’ve always been that way. There isn’t any criticism that I can receive for a piece of writing that doesn’t pale in comparison to my own criticisms. Even now, when I do something stupid, there is nothing that anyone can say that I haven’t already said to myself. I happen to be naturally self-deprecating. And to be completely and utterly honest about the subject, most of my egoisms and conceit come from an inherent need to protect myself. Because while I can punish myself all the live long day, hearing it from you will destroy me. To have even the closest of friends correct me on any matter in the very deepest of love, will only reinforce the lashes I’ve already inflicted on my own soul and mind. By the time you have said your piece, I’ve martyred myself with a thousand crucifixions.

The National

The National - Boxer

I’ve just discovered The National. Having heard them at Austin City Limits, I’ve quickly become enraptured with their music and the inherent melancholy wrapped within the lead singer’s voice. Right out of the gate, they proclaim that “We’re half-awake, in a fake empire.” And when I hear this, I think back to college when I used to smoke and stare at all the frat boys hitting on girls in class, enticing them with lame invitations to parties and free beer. While there I was, sitting in my seat, contemplating the realities of depression and God and why I couldn’t seem to love any of the women I had enticed back to my apartment with lame poetry recitations and the illusion that I understood them on a deeper level…

I didn’t even understand myself.

But these boys, living in a world I could never understand, which on the surface seemed so shallow in ignorance and self-aggrandizement seemed to always be so frigging happy. Self-confident with the aura of having it all together.

Of course it was an illusion. Of course.

But that didn’t make it any less desirable or simultaneously make me less envious of what they seemed to have. Held in their hands so effortlessly, like it was nothing more than a plastic cup full of beer.

Missing the Past

The National, making me think of my past, invariably follows a line of thought that wanders to a time in my life when I was surrounded by the most beautiful people I had ever known. I’m not going to mention any names, but suffice it to say that I loved these people. All of them. I had a friend that would make me dress up as a Powerpuff Girl in Spanish class for Halloween. The friend that I would sit around and listen to music with during random Saturdays. The poker games that would go on for hours to win four dollars. I still remember the one time a band (all friends of mine) dedicated a song to me simply because I loved it so. The hours I would spend pouring out my thoughts to them, trying to grasp, to grasp somehow the mess that had become my life.

The BBQs with the best baked beans I had ever tasted. The nights we sat alone in the dark, talking about God and drinking Vodka. The parties where the most brave would jump from house roof to garage, lighting things on fire and drinking like banchees.

Parts of the things I miss were merely crazy times of my youth, which I’ll never get back. And I don’t want them back. But these are people that I always thought would love me no matter what I did. No matter what crime I had committed. No matter how many sins were on my head.

But at some point, I crossed the line. At some point, it became too much to forgive.

Congratulations

Me. My wife.

I found out that a couple I had been particularly close to, is pregnant with their first child. I was never notified. Never called. Merely one more thing in a laundry list of not-so-subtle hints that I am unwanted in their lives. And maybe this is what I deserve. Maybe I’m not overly punishing myself this time, but rather, just enough. Maybe my friendships were like a frat boy’s self-confident happiness: an illusion. Maybe they never loved me the way I loved them.

Regardless, I just emailed this couple my congratulations. It’s time I move on and quit wishing for something that like my youth, I will never get back. Besides, it’s so easy to forget what you have in front of you as opposed to what you once had. My wife will also say that they’re not worth it. That what I have now is what’s important. And she’s right. She’s right more than I care to admit.

But that doesn’t make this any less hard.

May God teach me forgiveness like he’s taught me to love. May he teach me strength like he’s taught me vulnerability. May he breathe life into the dust I am. May he teach me happiness and warmth. May he teach me kindness and empathy. May God be with everyone I call “friend.” May God bless those I still love deep inside my heart. May God bless my beautiful wife.

May God bless me.