As time marches slowly towards my three years clean in September, I spend hours of every night soaked in insomniac reflection. Some of it good, and some… not so good.
There are things that I miss; a life I could have had if only I’d cleaned up that much sooner. It’s painful reliving those memories, painful that they are vivid enough to feel like I can go back in time, but cannot change anything. It’s like I’m Ebenezer Scrooge, visited only by the Ghost of Christmas Past.
There are so many things I want to write about, too many. This is not the post about reflection that I want to write, because there is too much for me even to know where to start. So until I get it together enough in my head, this is the post about the post that I have not written.
It’s a reminder, in a way, of the problems I had in the past. There were so many, I knew they needed fixing, but was so overwhelmed I did not know where or how to start, so I did nothing. It’s the story of my life actually, in that it has happened at work too. When there is too much wrong to make right, I get lost trying to find where to start, and so I do nothing. I drift along aimlessly and hopelessly as everything gets worse.
Things could have been so different. I was with a girl who I thought was the love of my life. And I regret that things didn’t work out that way. I miss the way things were. Not the drugs or the crazy life, but I miss having the little cottage that we lived in. I miss the year 2007 when Megan was pregnant with Josh, miss our two cats and our dog, and the happy life I thought we had and would continue to have. I miss getting home from work and the two of us taking our dog for a walk every evening, down by the field and around the lake. Two years later it would all be gone, and I regret not fixing it while I could. (If I could. Could I?) I miss the life we should have had. Maybe it wasn’t real.