Crumbs

If 5 different people see the same event, you will get 5 different interpretations as to what transpired.

If you were to ask 5 different people to describe me, you would get 5 different descriptions.

Not many people know me... the whole me.

I break off little bits and pieces for different people.

I am coming to realize that I am afraid of other people. I am afraid of letting them be close enough to me to hurt me.

What I thought was a position of strength has been, in actuality, a position of weakness.

The people I work with know an entirely different person than those I know socially.

One friend may know different aspects of my personality than others know.

In the military, this is called compartmentation.

One bit of information is useless on it's own. As part of a larger picture, the information takes on meaning and importance.

Some people know about May.
Others know about my divorce.
Some know about my family.
Others about my work.

No one person has enough information to put me at their mercy.

And I am coming to realize that on most levels, my associations are meaningless. Disposable. Temporary.

Now, I am faced with someone knowing more than I have told them.
She has listened.
She has guessed.
She has made logical assumptions.

And she has been right.
And she is still here.

It scares me.

Yet, I take comfort in it.

I want more of it, frightening as it is.

Recouperation

I can feel it.
I am getting better every day.
Scar tissue is breaking up, allowing healing to take place.
What was once painful is now a dull ache.

There are moments of pain, when I get overzealous in the process, and push too hard.
I have to reel myself back in to my comfort zone and dry the tears from my eyes.

I am speaking of my surgery.
My physical pain.

I have not had to reel myself back from my emotional process.
Not yet.
And I haven't dried my tears.
I choose to let them fade.

Finally, I am choosing to let them fade.

B_tter

I before E.

One letter makes a huge difference.

I am mired in the "I" variation.

Bitter.

I think people are essentially stupid, bad, not worthy of consideration.

I want to grow into the "E".

Better.

I want to be a better man.

1492

I am worried.

What if I change?
What if what I become is worse than what I am?

What if it is better?

What if I revert back to what I am?

What if?

There was a time when "what if" didn't rule me.
I paid for it. I still pay for it.

I have controlled my environment so that the outcome was known from jump.
The outcome has been unsatisfying, but familiar.

Part of me is comforted by the familiar.
A growing part of me yearns for the mystery of what might be.

Am I strong enough to strike out from my comfortable prison?
Am I strong enough to fail?
Am I strong enough to succeed?

Can I set out, knowing that I might not return to everything I have known, for the chance of something better?

Promised Land

My life is all about comfort.
My bed is firm, with a soft pad. Soft, cool sheets. Lots of pillows.
My clothing is geared toward comfort, not style. Sweats and t-shirts. Sneakers.

I have been comfortable in my isolation.
It is familiar. Predictable. Comforting.

Why am I dredging up all of this old pain? It was neatly arranged on the shelves of my mind, out of sight, but there if I needed it.

There is something better.
A risk.

I don't like risk.
Risk is dangerous.
Risk can kill you.
Risk can do worse.

Yet, I am drawn to this risk... this opportunity.

If sorting through all of the old baggage is what it takes to prepare me for the risk, then that is what I will do. What I must do.

I am not comfortable.
I am hurting.
I am tearing open old scars so that they might heal better.

All for a risk.
For what might be.
For uncertainty.

Running Scared

"Some say a hero is born to be brave
Well, I'm here to tell you
A hero is a scared man who doesn't walk away"

In my world, the worst thing a man can be is a coward. The ability to act when the chips are down, when the consequences are all or nothing... it is everything.

I am not a coward.

Yes, I am.

When faced with bad people, I act. I do not hesitate. I do not let whatever fear I have deter me from the things I need to do to go home at night.

When faced with good people who wish to share my life, I hesitate. My fear keeps me alone.

If I allow myself to be vulnerable to them, they are in a position to further damage me. They have shown no inclination to hurt me, but it is not a chance I am willing to take.

And this makes me a coward.

I believe it makes me less of a man, as well.

Yes, I go home every night.
To what?
An empty bed.
A solitary morning.
Coffee for one.

What if I were able to invite someone in?
What if I had someone to go home to?
What if I awakened in the morning to find someone special beside me?

What if I didn't come home one night?
Would I put someone else through what I have endured?

Can I do that to someone else?

Kettle

Young love, cut short by an accident.

I could relate.

Our tragedies had a lot of similarities. Our reactions to them had a lot of similarities.

I could plainly see the missteps she was making. The people she allowed access to her life that, had she been whole, would never have made it up to the front door.

The faults we hate most in others are the ones we excuse in ourselves.

We were romantically involved for a short period, but neither of us was whole, neither of us healthy, so that facet of our entanglement didn't sustain for long.

But our friendship has. Each of us sees in the other qualities we valued and lost, so long ago.

I often act as the chorus in her Greek tragedy. I warn her of upcoming pitfalls when she begins a new relationship. I see where these men are lacking, and I let her know what to look for.

I do not extend her the same courtesy.

Old habits die hard. In many ways, I am half a friend.
In the 6 years I have known her, she has never met a woman I have been involved with.
When I discuss issues I face, I do so in vague terms.

I trust her, but I do not let her in too close. No dangerous details.

Maybe, by helping her navigate the minefield, I can find the way through myself... should I ever have the courage to attempt passage.