Wrong
The crux of the matter is, and always will be, that I’m wrong.
In every situation, every exchange, I’m almost certain that I have taken the wrong decision. Turned on to the wrong road, said the wrong thing, am miss remembering a fact, or misunderstood something.
A core belief of mine is that I am wrong. At all times I’m easily convinced that I’m mistaken, or easily shown how I hurt or worsen a situation.
I don’t know why I believe this. Probably because I was wrong so many times before, and to protect my ego now I just try to jump the gun and assume that I’m always wrong.
But it doesn’t matter if I’m right or wrong. I decided to go about my life, apologetically asking for others to tolerate me. Thankful that they would be so generous as to share their time with someone who can’t make a single right choice. I allow myself these moments of sadism, submiting others to my ineptitudes, because apparently without them I can’t live.
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My therapist gets really angry when I isolate myself, so I avoid it at all costs these days, because obviously she’s right. I am wrong. Isolation doesn’t help me be better at not being wrong.
But alas, I’m wrong.
To all I’ve loved, I’m sorry I loved so much, or so little. I truly wished you hadn’t to suffer in absolutely any way.
To all I couldn’t love. I’m so deeply sorry. I would be lucky to have you in my life, but I can’t make one thing right.
To all who hate me. I’m so sorry, you’re probably right, but there ain’t much I can do about it.
I’m trying to change, always, everyday, a constante tension between who I am and who I should be. The fight is long and painful, and even though I’ve had some lucky victories along the way, I still have much to learn.
I wish the best to all of you.
