Have you ever felt raw, unfiltered, pure, organic, grass-fed regret?
It's hard to describe. It borders somewhere between "projectile lava rage" and "decadent self loathing." There's this tightening in your chest, like a tar covered hand has reached into your rib cage from the depths of hell and is trying to drag your internal organs through the floor.
The floor is made of shag carpet and it's orange.
I hate this feeling, especially when it doesn't stem from me doing anything wrong. It just seems like I can't get anything right.
Circumstances change; life offers chance after chance; magic do-overs abound.
Yet, I remain. The same as ever. Face in my hands, always asking myself, "Why. Am. I. So. Dumb?"
It's ironic, because not ten hours ago I was going on and on about how if one would just change ONE thing, it would change EVERYTHING. "There's so much life to be lived!" I said, "Why don't they live it?"
Who am I to judge, I wonder? I'm tethered to my own bad decisions. I made each link of this chain. I forged it myself, my greatest achievement. Look how shiny it is, rubbing the skin off my ankles.
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