Sometimes in life we have to draw a line in the sand. A line to say this far and no further.
Now that line lies before me, and so does the stick with which I drew it. Neither make for a pretty sight. And it doesn't make me feel good. In fact, it is just about the most terrifying thing I have ever done. It makes me sick.
I wish I had done it better. I wish that the line had been straighter and neater. But between debris and incoming waves, drawing in the sand is difficult… and I am inexperienced at it. Part of me wishes the tide would come and take that damned line with it when it goes again. Gone without a trace. But that would be denial…. and I won't let myself look away that carelessly. I own this. I chose this for myself. And if I abandon that choice, I will abandon myself. So, if I can't muster the courage now, I'd just end up having to draw the line all over again sooner or later when I can. Running is never a good option for me. I am too good at it…
So, it stands.
And I do too. Because I have to. No other choice is acceptable. Whatever may come now, I won't be alone. I know that. Yet it seems little consolation, as I stand here and look at what I have done. I want to be responsible. I want it to be my fault. I want the blood on my hands. Better there than anywhere else. But it isn't something I decide. It is what it is, and I did what I had to … to be honest and true to myself. (Didn't I?)
The next couple of days will be a battle between guilt and anger. Resent and remorse. Love and … honesty. I need to have the courage to let this stand. I need to do this right and not just cave in because it is easier. No matter how much I may want to. I need to be as honest with myself as I have been with others.
“Happier with a blade at my throat”… isn't that what I said? Well, I certainly have that now, and what better incentive to do some long hard thinking, I guess…