I’m never gonna be more real than I am going to be right now… and for once, maybe… I’ll feel a little bit better about being me.
I have a severe problem with being esteemed in such a way that paints me in this light where I’m a “decent” or anything better than that. I really do… I don’t get it. I’m one of the biggest pieces of shit walking this planet. Every bit of me screams that I don’t deserve to be here. Every bit of me screams that I don’t deserve the levels of adoration, respect, and appreciation that I’m given. Instead, every bit of me screams that I deserve to be ridiculed, taken for granted, and abused in a manner consistent with being nothing special or significant.
Ever since Eric passed away, I’ve been convicted of feeling like I should have been the one to go in his place. The world lost someone who made this place better and left someone in his place that had no idea about the destination his own life much less being able to impact the lives of multiple others. Even more so in a way that suggests that they are better for me being here. I do not believe that I am capable of this level of influence. I’ve never been the type to affect change in anyone else or even myself. And I’ve never been more convicted of feeling like the biggest jackass in the world until today… why would I be? I know from personal experience that there are bigger fish in the sea in that respect and I’ve never felt victimized by them. I don’t feel victimized by trash or scum of the earth types… what’s really sad is that I feel victimized by the most kind and warm hearted people I’ve ever met.
The types that make me feel like I am worth something… that I am special… that there is something for me. Even when I feel like I don’t… that esteem… appreciation… the love I’m given… makes me feel like I’m taking something from them that I didn’t earn… those types of people…
The ones that give me faith in humanity.
I don’t get how they can be so accepting of a major character deficiency? I guess the ability to have a heart for others entitles you to some level of respect, dignity, and appreciation… even if that heart for others ultimately serves nobody but yourself. The ability to be genuinely humble and accept that there are limitations to just how you can serve your fellow man was never really bestowed upon me. I always thought that if you did well and meant well, it would be reciprocated. However, I figured out very quickly that being nice didn’t mean a fucking thing and all I received was antagonism.
To this day, I will plead up and down that he didn’t deserve to die. Not then… not like how he did… and every bit of the person I felt was growing died with him. I wanted to be the guy everybody didn’t want to be around… couldn’t stand investing anything in… and the consensus was that he was a waste of resources and the one to be quietly forgotten. Furthermore, I don’t feel as strongly about being the one who should have taken his place than I do now. I should have. What purpose does a selfish prick have being given another opportunity to do something productive with his life? Really? What did I do to be given such an opportunity? Eric had something… great… outstanding, even going for him which benefited the community a lot more than I could have. Why give shitbags chances at redemption?
Maybe because this particular one didn’t ask for one… or God felt that there was something more to the story…
I never really understood why tragedy to triumph stories really invoke a lot of emotion in me. Maybe it’s the idea of seeing the underdog win or a least get a taste of what it was like to do something worth doing. Couldn’t tell you… I’ve been the good little soldier who fights uphill battles in everything. It’s an everyday struggle to maintain the life I don’t deserve… the friendships with people with whom I’ve done nothing to earn… or the opportunity that I purposefully squander because maybe it’ll sink in that I really don’t want it.
But, then I remember why I took a step towards God after Eric died… I needed something to be different. I was tired of being alone… feeling alone… and being held in that uncomfortable light where nothing mattered. Even now I feel like nothing I’ve said or done matters… maybe because it doesn’t… maybe because there’s no reception to it… for whatever reason, I stand firm in that… and then it was bestowed to me that there is relevance to my words and credence in my actions.
A year after his death, I now have the things that made me wish I was already dead. I have a family that loves and cares about me, friends that want to share in my joys and struggles, and a life I can finally come to grips with as something I can be proud of… even if it is just a meager one. No matter how much I say I don’t deserve the affection of those around me or how much I’d rather be anywhere but here… the things I’ve taken for granted for so long now offer me serenity and peace where there was none before. They enrich the whole of my existence and offer value where there was only self-degradation and cruelty.
As much as they would disagree with me when I say they deserve better than I could ever possibly have to offer… they would agree that I offer something. They found the heart I thought was gone… the heart I had when Eric was here… the heart I thought never was coming back and gave me an opportunity to freely offer it back to them. The heart that I had been left with died with him… and perhaps rightfully so. But, it gave me a chance to be given something that had a little bit of life left in it to someone… anyone… who wanted it.
Maybe that’s why I love those types of stories so much… because there’s so much heart in them.
In loving memory, Air-Rock