Can We Understand Ourselves?
I am sorry for many things in my life.
I’m sorry for the things others did to me that I had no control over.
I’m sorry for the things I should have done but didn’t.
I’m sorry for many things I did but shouldn’t have done.
All of these have left indelible marks on my brain. Everyone of them burns with an intensity that hasn’t diminished since I first became a conscious, thinking, reasoning adult.
The things that others did to me as a child are not, as one might think, the most painful. Yes, I was abandoned and left to shift for myself at a very early age. But oddly, I was happy to escape the drunkenness, violence, fear, and constant anxiety that debilited me years later.
I realize now that my life has been a lived in a state of impending doom because of the egregious acts of those whom, at first, I loved, and who later I thought should have loved me. The ultinate betrayals left me with a subterranean case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
This led me to fail by omission and commission in my responsibilities as a parent. I repeated many of the acts of the adults I observed around me. I projected my fear onto others not by physical violence but by shouting and demeaning their every act. Just as I felt worthless, I led them to the same feelings.
Most of my loudness and intimidation occurred when I was drunk or hungover. My family learned to tiptoe around me. Or quietly leave when my attention was elsewhere. That is a life of hell for anyone.
I haven’t had a drop to drink in more than 35 years. Sadly, the damage had been done. Words once uttered and acts once committed cannot be retrieved.Those realizations came with sobriety. And with the realization came mental hell.
Yet I have never regretted my sobriety. At least I have done my best.
Or have I. Am I capable of truly understanding the effects of my behavior on those I love more than anyone on Earth?
