I used to believe that if I worked hard and tried hard and made sure to do everything right, then everything would turn out just fine. But of course, that's not how life works. It never has been, and it never will be. Sometimes, no matter how much you do perfectly, everything is still going to fall apart. The thing is, things happen that we weren't expecting. We falter, we fall apart, we give in where we know we shouldn't, we give up when we could have made something of ourselves.
Yeah, I've made mistakes. There's no sense in denying that, no sense in even trying to pretend that's not the case. It's something human. We all do it occasionally. You could probably make the argument I've done it knowingly more than most. And perhaps I have. That's fine, I don't mind. Forgive and forget, so the saying goes. I've never been one for forgetting though. Lately, I've been learning to at least forgive myself...sometimes. But I don't think I'll ever really be able to forget. I'm probably expected to be learning something at that rate from all of these mistakes. I can't say that I am or that I have.
No, that's a bit of a lie. I most certainly have learned something, many things really. But they're not particularly likely to stop me from making mistakes in the future. Why? I'm not entirely sure. Part of it is curiosity, a certain fascination with imperfection. Another part is likely to be a way of living on the edge, seeing how close I can get to bringing the world crashing down around me without actually doing it. I have a somewhat bitter and masochistic sense of humor in that regard.
The thing is, this is where it starts to get real. These next two weeks...this is what hits me the hardest, hurts me the most, causes me to wake up in agony, and wonder why the hell I even try anymore. Now, it's real. I know what's going to be happening and when it's going to be happening. It's no longer this abstract idea I've been aiming for throughout all of two months. It's real. So I begin to dread.
A year ago, this almost completely destroyed me. I spent these equivalent two weeks without a single night of restful sleep. I was completely and utterly torn to pieces by a bitter combination of depression and terror. If I've been a mess this summer, I was a hundred times more so for those weeks a year ago. I don't know how I did it, but I do know that getting through it made it somehow alright. I know this. Consciously, I am completely aware of this fact and entirely prepared to deal with the situation.
But the mess of mental instability that is at my core is continually pushing me into panic. It's illogical and unreasonable, but the fact remains: I am absolutely terrified. That's how I know I'm going to spend the next two weeks completely dreading everything that I have been looking forward to for the past two months. I've got quite a few issues that need to be addressed, and as time goes on, things like this make it increasingly obvious that this all needs to be dealt with. Preferably soon.
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