I Think I’ve Been Doing It Wrong…

This is a hard one to write—for so many reasons. Read on, you’ll find out. I used to love writing, it’s my job now, but it’s not really the same. I’m going to change that today and try to write consistently… I’ll explain later, but I’d love you to come along for the ride.
 
First, for those who don’t know me, how about an introduction? I’m a 33-year-old male, about 6” tall, athletic. I have a good job, family and friends that love me, a girlfriend, and a misbehaved yet adorable dog. I treat my family well and my girlfriend like the queen she is. I don’t really need anything else, livin’ the dream. Ask my friends, “he’s funny,” “such a great guy,” “always happy,” they’ll say.
 
I believe that. I like that guy too, as long as I’m not looking at him in the mirror. The guy I see while brushing my teeth or shaving (luckily I don’t see him as much now that I have a beard) is a little rough around the edges. I don’t like him and neither should my friends, family, girlfriend, dog or you. No one would want to be around that guy—I don’t want to be.
 
That guy is the quintessential selfish only child. Most people don’t see him. Unfortunately, the ones who do are the aforementioned people who love him. Poor saps, really, because he could care less what they have to go through. He’ll be done with them soon anyway, once they have nothing left in their bank account, mental well-being and have reached their breaking point. It’s not his problem, that’s how he sees it. He always ends up on top, though. He’s always sorry, but not really sorry. When things don’t go his way it’s always someone’s fault. Try to tell him he’s doing something wrong? Which wall, door, cabinet do you want to have to fix? The things he ruins are unfathomable. Don’t try to have any kind of special occasion, holiday or even just a night out. It’s about him, anyways. Don’t try to do something nice for him, he’ll find something wrong with it. He’ll probably make you feel bad about it too.
 
Partying? The guy in the mirror loves it. He’ll party with you until 7,8,9 in the morning. He thinks he’s the guy in paragraph two when there’s a bottle involved, he doesn’t have to think about real life. He’s a useless man, often needs someone to take care of him, can’t drive anywhere if an emergency were to happen. He pees in his sleep, rarely in the toilet. He sees things with rose coloured glasses during these times, unless you care about him—now you’re the enemy. He gets mad and his temper flares. He’s mad at the world and takes it out on the wrong people. The majority of the time, the couple of people who shouldn’t be here to tell what he did, will. He’s always sorry.
 
I know I shouldn’t, but I willingly spend time with this guy. He can’t take care of himself in ways a normal 33-year-old does. He can’t help it, “it’s how I was raised. It’s my parents’ fault,” he’s said a million times. Those who love him come back. They see something, I think maybe paragraph two. Don’t get me wrong, I see it too. My pal in the mirror always says he’ll leave, he knows he’s the problem. He’ll be back, though, he always is. He’s always sorry.
 
I wish I could kill him. You know, make him disappear or have him sleep with the fishes. He really doesn’t deserve to be, but he’d be missed by too many people. The ripple effect would be too great and I could never bring myself to it. So what do I do with him? I’ve tried talking to him and so have others, ad nauseum, until they’re blue in the face. Until they just can’t take it anymore. Why should they? He’s always sorry, but that word is just a crutch now. A band aid that’s going to be some time so he can be gone for good. Fat fucking chance.
 
We’ve heard so many sobering words and have had infinite conversations with those who we tell we love and care about. We think everyone thinks like us, the sun will still come up tomorrow. They don’t and we’ll realize that, but only for a minute or two because it isn’t about them. They’ll tell us because they care, they want paragraph number two. Not even for them, but for us. We hear them. They said “doesn’t… isn’t… you…” what was it again? See what we did there? We do it a lot. Selective hearing is what the general public would call it. We call it “it’s not about me and I don’t get anything from it.” We’re always sorry.
 
We aren’t sure why people stick around. I’m not sure why I stick around. However, when people stay we’ll just leech all over again. Lucky us, we have another month to play with. Ultimatums? Might as well save your breath because we don’t care. Respect? Just a word in the dictionary to us. Remember, this is not our fault because it’s everyone else’s. We’re always sorry.
 
I’ve let people down, I’ve ruined things for people while they’re at work. If you have anxiety I will make it worse. I never think what I’ve done is wrong, at least not for very long. “Do you know how that makes me feel?” I know how it would make me feel and that’s about good enough for me. I’ll chew people up and spit them out, but I won’t leave. That would be the best for them if I left, I know it, but I won’t do it. I’m always sorry. This sounds familiar.
 
We’ve come a long way from the guy in paragraph two, haven’t we? This marks 1,000 words, what a complete transformation?
 
I’ve thrown away, wasted and sat on the couch through every opportunity I’ve had. Words can’t describe how lucky I am to have a few people left on my side, they should have been gone years ago. They deserve better, mental stability, their own lives, they shouldn’t have to worry about mine. I’ve blamed the guy in the mirror for years because “I’m not like that.” I realize when I leave him he’s always going the other way. He’s taking the high road, he’s probably going to treat people great. He’s probably smiling with his loved ones right now. He’s paragraph two.
 
Sorry, as you all know by now, means nothing coming from me. Everything I’ve done could have and should have been avoided. Easy to say, hard if you don’t put the effort in to change. I regret what I’ve done to those who care about me, the times I’ve been given advice and guidance only to flush it down the toilet. The yelling and tantrums. They all deserve better, but I can never repay the debt of their kindness. Change is the greatest gift I can give them now, words won’t cut it. I regret letting paragraph two down. It’s too late to get back a lot of what I’ve lost, but this is a first step to getting to the other side of the mirror.