Thoughts of time..

Another entry of possible angst.. but the reason I write these is to try to find some sort of clarification within myself of what I am thinking.. I often have just something rattling around in my mind, and it is truly difficult to focus for understanding until it is written. So for those who tire of these.. no need to read further, this is just for me.

What doubts are justifiable? If one has lied to you before.. does that make it right to then doubt whatever might be stated in the future by them? I read an email tonight of a young man, only 21, who states that he has been diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. This man has lied, occasionally, in the past. He is one who often misrepresents things in order to make his situation sound more affected than it is. Yet I also know that he has gone through difficult things, he has not lied of all things, just some.

So I sit here and wonder.. when I cannot ask him personally at the moment, if it is true or false, or if he wrote this merely to gain sympathy and understanding. If it was something said in order to manipulate others to give what he wishes at the moment, bringing high drama to situations in often.

When did I become so judgmental of others? I do not appreciate being lied to when it comes to important matters. Everyone.. everyone states things in a different vein, in order to avoid causing harm to those they love, either to leave out details not important for others to hear, or to rationalize within themselves what they are doing.

I am just as guilty of it as the next person, though I do not like being lied to.. I know that it is a human trait, to present oneself in the best possible light. I do not like to lie or mislead.. but there are times I might not tell all the details of something, if I know that they would hurt another, especially if I do not think it is necessary for them to hear, if it does not relate to them.

Sometimes it is timing, I will keep my own counsel until such time that I believe the other person can hear the truth. Sometimes this works out for the best, and sometimes it bites me in the rear when I’m not looking, leaving scars that will not heal.

I spoke of this last night to my mother. I mentioned again how much I regret not being able to visit she and my father more often, before he died. Often I would make plans, even to the point of packing, but would be too exhausted to drive the 90 miles or felt too sick. At those times, I would call and give the reason why I would not be there, with hopes that perhaps I could the next week or the week after.

Time and again this happened, but it was not because I did not wish to go there. Finances often made things difficult, or my car, but most often it was because I was sick and I refused to go to the doctor, fearing what was wrong with me. Of course, I didn’t know I had cancer, but I knew it was something.. and the times I would go, I would be more exhausted, less able to handle the stress of work, then if I had not gone.

Yet to have another chance to see my father again.. I would give anything for that. And he thought I was not coming because I did not wish to, he told my mother it was because I didn’t want to see them. That is what he believed, that is what the consequences were of my not telling what I feared.

It’s a two-edged sword, this secret I carried. Had I gone and found out that I did indeed have cancer, it would have been something my father could not have handled, it would have added even more stress and possibly caused his heart to fail sooner than it did. On the one hand I am glad that he never knew, but on the other I hate knowing that he died believing that I didn’t enjoy time with them.

So now I’m faced with wondering, how can I be so quick to judge another for what may or may not be going through his life? How can I be so hypocritical to immediately jump to the worst possible conclusion? So often others have judged me harshly, when they just didn’t know the full story.

And so I come to the part I hate most.. in seeing how I cannot even live the life I wish, and that isn’t just in the quality of life, but in being the person I want to be, intrinsically.. what will that leave others to think of me when my time ends? Will they think of me as the hypocrite I sometimes am? Harsh, unbending.. cold? Will my time here have meant anything at all? Have I made any impact on anyone’s life that truly matters? Other than those of family, which goes without saying.. but I sit and contemplate my own mortality. I will have no children.. I will have nothing to leave behind except these words. And what do they mean? They are just so many syllables of angst and worry, fear and despair, sadness and longing.

Yes.. I long sometimes for children.. and that is the truly selfish part of me. Wishing that I did not face the future of being alone.. contemplating holidays without the sounds of children’s laughter at delights, or seeing the surprise at opening gifts, sharing the wonder that life can be. To hear a child’s laugh, to see that special smile that only a child can give their mother, the fierce hug for reassurance or just a warm snuggle, the sigh when being held and knowing they are safe in your arms. Those are gifts I shall never experience, and a huge part of me mourns for that.. but I have to force myself not to think on it.

There are times I face myself and I do not like what I see, and this is one of those times. I had hoped that in my life I might make a difference, somehow.. someway.. and yet all that is left are words, when all is said and done. The words of sadness and regret, those are not words to leave behind.

Perhaps someday there will be less of these, perhaps I’ll find a way to come to terms, to accept myself more. I surely am fighting to.. these moments come less and less frequently. At least this is one of those times where the pain does not rip me in two, and in some ways that saddens me, as if part of my heart has frozen solid.

It’s the pushing down, burying.. it’s the struggle to stifle the frantic sobs; it’s the wanting the pain not to overwhelm me.. those are the reasons I forbid myself to dream. Because dreaming equates pain, and I am so tired of hurting. Isn’t this though, lying to myself, when I do this? To not face what fears there are head-on, is this not a form of self-deceit?

I don’t have the answers tonight, I may not for weeks or months or years.. but I just know I am not content in being a hypocrite, it is a struggle to deal with being one to myself. I want to be the best I can be for others, but until I can face my own features in the mirror, how can that happen? And how to face the woman that I am, when it makes me feel that I stare at the image of failure?

Maybe someday I’ll understand.