‘They lie because it’s the only way to survive. If they had to face the truth of themselves, then they would fill their pockets with rocks and walk into the sea. They simply wouldn’t be able to live with it.’
I heard this said about a different group of people the other day, but it applies to me. The only way I am still here is denial. Minimizing the severity of what I’ve done, telling myself it wasn’t that bad. Because the truth is that I’m an awful person, and I shouldn’t be alive. And recognizing that I’m an awful person doesn’t stop me from being one. It doesn’t change me. It doesn’t make me contrite. And I can’t see any way to change it. To change the way I react to the fucked up stuff that passes through my head. And even if I could it wouldn’t make the things I’ve done forgivable. And even if they were I wouldn’t want to live with the shame and guilt of it.
So I shouldn’t be alive. I’m a terrible person, and I can’t see any way back to being an ok person.
But I’m scared of death. I tend to act like this is all there is, but what if my awfulness lingers on somehow? What if the afterlife is a hall of mirrors, where you are unable to escape the horrible recognition of your true self, but are trapped with no way to change it?
Or what if there is some existential judge who sees all, knows all? Even outside of any punishment I’ve earned, the idea of facing another being who knows every horrible little detail is terrifying. The shame of it.
And then there’s my selfish survival instinct. If I just deny hard enough, maybe everything will work out all right. I’ll be magically redeemed by some supernatural being, or it’ll turn out that none of it was that big a deal. Or I’ll wake up to realize it was all a bad dream. Just keep denying long enough, and everything will be ok.
Time to numb myself some more.