All my fault(s)

Enough time has passed since the downfall of my former life and dreams that reality is beginning to set in. Some may see that as a blessing, to look clearly upon the events of the past year and analyze in a logical manner. Those people don't realize that though I see these mistakes in 3-D surround sound, there is no logic to the interpretations. Not yet.

I can't remember if someone has already said this or if I'm being unseasonably insightful, but man is his own worst enemy. Actually, thinking on it, I'm sure someone very famous and smart said it. If someone like that said something this clever, then it must be true.

Anyway, I go through periods in my life where I am more than my worst enemy—I am my absolute destruction. Yes, yes, that is a bit overdramatic, but if you've never felt the soul-crippling effects of absolute failure coupled with perfectionism and an overwhelming sense of responsibility for everything, even that not within your power, then you won't understand. That's a good thing. I promise.

As I see it, the fog of panic is fading, plus the inner-survivalist is getting a brief respite. That means recrimination is rearing its repugnant head, its red-hot gaze already beginning to pierce the armor of self-esteem. That is my downfall: my own sense of guilt.

It hasn't progressed much yet, but it will soon enough. I can already feel the bile churning in my gut, ready for the first major wave of self-recrimination to begin.

Though I made mistakes throughout the process of opening the bookstore, they were all committed in earnest and with a determination that it was all for the best. Only hindsight knows the truth, and in this matter, I was wrong on many occasions. I see now what I could not then, and while there are many lessons that I need to learn and many more that others might benefit from, I can't deal with it right now.

That is the simple truth, but it's also the thing I fear most. I will need to face all of my decisions, and soon is the obvious choice, but I don't know if that's possible. Not for me. Not right now.

Why not now? Because I'm not ready to damn myself with my own words. If I say or write the things that trouble me, it would be as though I confessed a sin that was no sin; only mistakes. But still. It has much the feel of a sinner condemned.

Yes, I know. Overdramatic again. But there it is. I made mistakes and plenty of them, but until I have enough emotional strength built up after such a crushing defeat, I can't bear thinking of them without feeling the guilt beginning to take over. It doesn't matter if the guilt is valid; it's there and will wound me all the same.

And so my demons will be shoved back into the closet for a forced hibernation. I'm not ready to deal with the emotions of the past year. When will I be? I haven't a clue.