Choices
When it comes to life we are where we are today because of the choices we have made. My sister chooses to live with a jobless mooch who sucks the life out of her as fast as her paycheck. My best friend chooses to live with an immature jerk who has no desire to work hard for his family. My mother chooses to live in pain because she would rather do that then use a cane or a wheelchair. That would hurt her pride.
I've chosen to write these words knowing damn well it could piss these three people off.
I know what your saying, " I didn't choose to get hit by that car the other day." No, but you did choose to drive you car the way you were going when you got hit. It wasn't your fault, but you did contribute to the situation.
When I was 18 I met a guy who, I thought, farted the sun out of his ass every morning. There wasn't anything this guy could do wrong in my eyes. We moved in together pretty soon after we met. This guy was an artist, as such he didn't bring in a whole lot of money. I worked a steady job, paid the bills, bought the food, fixed the cars, so on and so on, while he took whatever money he made and spent it on drugs or parts for his bike. He didn't pay for shit. When the lights were turned off it was my fault because I couldn't pay the bill. When we couldn't go to Chicago with the rest of his friends it was my fault because I didn't make enough money. I chose to live this way, I chose to put up with this shit.
One day I chose to stop. It was a hard decision, one I have grappled with up until today. I loved this man with every cell in my body, but I chose not to be his bank/lover/punching bag anymore. I chose me. I second guessed this decision for months, sometimes I think years. I sat on my bed one night looking at a bottle of pills that would kill me. I could not choose. I didn't know what to do. I hated my family at that point, I was alone, I didn't like my job, I was alone, and I was sure I'd just lost any chance of happiness. And I was alone. Drinking hadn't helped. Looking for another man didn't help. I wanted to die.
I chose to live.
A few months later I met a man. I chose to give him a chance. I chose to move to Savannah, GA, to be with him. I chose to say yes when he asked me to marry him. I choose to put up with my husbands video game addiction, and I choose when I tell him I've been alone too long. He chooses to listen. It's great that way.
People who float through life acting the helpless victim make me sick. If life was a huge river, and the shores were lined with boats, some people would make the effort to swim to shore, while others would drown waiting for someone to come rescue them. I'm disgusted when someone creates a life for themselves (with their choices) and then act as if they have no say so in what happens. You made the choices, take responsibly for the results.
Whoever you are, you are living the life you've chosen to live. Your decisions have brought you where you are, who you are with, and how you are living. You, no one else. And no one else can fix your life if you're not happy with it. No one is going to save you, you must choose to save yourself.
I've been preaching these words for a long time, and today I've finally made the choice to listen to myself. I'm great at telling other people what they should do to make their lives better, but I chose to ignore my own advice. No more. I've been starring in the helpless victim role for the last few months (okay, years). I want things for myself, I want to live a certain life, but I've been sitting back waiting for it to happen. I've made excuses for myself, given myself unconditional understanding. No more.
I have chosen to pursue my writing with the utmost seriousness. No more "I'll write that someday." Someday is here. I'm not going to get anything published if I don't write it. The rejection letters I've been dreading will come, and they will probably make me feel bad. There will probably be a lot of disappointment, false hope, and roller-coaster days. I will shed a few tears. It's quite possible I will never be the great writer I want to be, but I will never know if I don't try. I chose to open myself up to the bad, because I can't get anything good if I don't open the door. I have to expose myself and see what comes.
It is my choice and I will live with it.
That boy I chose when I was 18? He chose to contact me a few months ago. We're friends now, the past firmly kept in the past. We're different people. It's a good relationship, perhaps the one we were meant to have.
I've chosen to write these words knowing damn well it could piss these three people off.
I know what your saying, " I didn't choose to get hit by that car the other day." No, but you did choose to drive you car the way you were going when you got hit. It wasn't your fault, but you did contribute to the situation.
When I was 18 I met a guy who, I thought, farted the sun out of his ass every morning. There wasn't anything this guy could do wrong in my eyes. We moved in together pretty soon after we met. This guy was an artist, as such he didn't bring in a whole lot of money. I worked a steady job, paid the bills, bought the food, fixed the cars, so on and so on, while he took whatever money he made and spent it on drugs or parts for his bike. He didn't pay for shit. When the lights were turned off it was my fault because I couldn't pay the bill. When we couldn't go to Chicago with the rest of his friends it was my fault because I didn't make enough money. I chose to live this way, I chose to put up with this shit.
One day I chose to stop. It was a hard decision, one I have grappled with up until today. I loved this man with every cell in my body, but I chose not to be his bank/lover/punching bag anymore. I chose me. I second guessed this decision for months, sometimes I think years. I sat on my bed one night looking at a bottle of pills that would kill me. I could not choose. I didn't know what to do. I hated my family at that point, I was alone, I didn't like my job, I was alone, and I was sure I'd just lost any chance of happiness. And I was alone. Drinking hadn't helped. Looking for another man didn't help. I wanted to die.
I chose to live.
A few months later I met a man. I chose to give him a chance. I chose to move to Savannah, GA, to be with him. I chose to say yes when he asked me to marry him. I choose to put up with my husbands video game addiction, and I choose when I tell him I've been alone too long. He chooses to listen. It's great that way.
People who float through life acting the helpless victim make me sick. If life was a huge river, and the shores were lined with boats, some people would make the effort to swim to shore, while others would drown waiting for someone to come rescue them. I'm disgusted when someone creates a life for themselves (with their choices) and then act as if they have no say so in what happens. You made the choices, take responsibly for the results.
Whoever you are, you are living the life you've chosen to live. Your decisions have brought you where you are, who you are with, and how you are living. You, no one else. And no one else can fix your life if you're not happy with it. No one is going to save you, you must choose to save yourself.
I've been preaching these words for a long time, and today I've finally made the choice to listen to myself. I'm great at telling other people what they should do to make their lives better, but I chose to ignore my own advice. No more. I've been starring in the helpless victim role for the last few months (okay, years). I want things for myself, I want to live a certain life, but I've been sitting back waiting for it to happen. I've made excuses for myself, given myself unconditional understanding. No more.
I have chosen to pursue my writing with the utmost seriousness. No more "I'll write that someday." Someday is here. I'm not going to get anything published if I don't write it. The rejection letters I've been dreading will come, and they will probably make me feel bad. There will probably be a lot of disappointment, false hope, and roller-coaster days. I will shed a few tears. It's quite possible I will never be the great writer I want to be, but I will never know if I don't try. I chose to open myself up to the bad, because I can't get anything good if I don't open the door. I have to expose myself and see what comes.
It is my choice and I will live with it.
That boy I chose when I was 18? He chose to contact me a few months ago. We're friends now, the past firmly kept in the past. We're different people. It's a good relationship, perhaps the one we were meant to have.
posted by Barbarian02003 | Friday, March 02, 2007
5 Comments:
That's awesome!
I am very happy to hear about your determined pusuit of your writing.
Not to get too Oprah Winfrey on ya, but I fnd it very inspirational as I struggle to build and refine my illustration so I can turn it into a livelyhood as well.
I've made some progress, but i sense from your post that you're ahead of me.
That's cool though; it's good to have a friend going through a similar thing to look to.
Thanks for the post!
I'm so grateful that you are my friend. Good luck on your work.
I wish you success with your writing, Barbarian. I used to write a whole lot, aside from the blog. I think this post has given me the itch to finish some of my bigger works. Gruntstock is not over yet, so keep coming around!
This comment has been removed by the author.
You are very much on target with this post. People choose their own path in life and their choices dictate the outcome. Happiness or sadness depends on their choices and the people they choose to love.
The problem for many is when feelings start to get in the way of reality; that is when trouble starts. You have to learn how to judge yourself, other people and situations without an emotional attachment. Only then will you be able to give the critical analysis necessary to make better decisions.
Change is difficult but many times change is needed for a better life. People might be fearful of the unknown but the reluctance to change can be even more damaging. Like my mother staying married to my father, who can never show any loving emotions toward her nor can he compliment her. She should have left years ago but now she is 60 and the good years are behind her. She will never know what it is like to have a supportive, loving or complimentary husband; she is very bitter because of this.
Congratulations on your writing; maybe we will both get published in the same year.
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