Introspection..

I am always wary when I feel like this. I have always been an emotional person, anyone who knows me will know this all too well. It tends to be those emotions which lead me to write this down.

Is it a plea for help from the darkness of a sad mind? No, I don't think so. I don't write it here in the hope that someone might pop along and massage my wounds with a kind word. I put it here so that it might forever remind me of the mistakes I have made.

During different periods of my life I have done different things with those emotions.

When I was young I turned them into anger and hate. That path is a dangerous one, and at some point down the line, no matter who you are, you'll crash. I did.

Then I learned to show my emotions, and be open about them. It led me to one of the people who, until I die, will always hold a special place in my heart. But, eventually, I destroyed that relationship, by being foolish, and letting small things snowball until I was no longer a viable option.

That led me to one of the darkest periods of my life (which for anyone who really knows me would know to be a fairly daunting prospect) with only the odd few lights throughout.

Eventually I got here, and whilst I am more in control, more steady, cleaner and stronger in spirit, I still harbour regrets.

I look upon my life and wonder how I could have made it better. I have left a trail of destruction in my wake in my short time on this planet. My past turns to ash and dust, and engulfs anyone who accompanied me along the way. It's a tough realisation, but one which, rightly so, had to come to light.

I never really committed to anything in my life fully. I was always in it for the quick win; I always had something better, less productive, less successful to do and achieve. In every element of my life, I could have done better. I was capable, but I lacked motivation. I was big on the talk, and lacking in the action.

As a result, I now see my life as a series of wasted opportunities, ruined moments, and coal-coloured remnants which can never be repaired, or even returned to a portion of their former glory.

It is days like this, I take a good long hard look at myself, and what I have achieved and realise that I don't really like what I see. It is days like this, that no matter what philospohical nonsense I manage to spout, no matter what I tell myself to feel better about, it makes no difference. I have nothing to show for my efforts, limited as they may be.

I pushed anyone and everyone who ever loved me, and I ever loved, away. Through fear; Through stupidity; Through selfishness.

Dramatic? Not really. Self deprecatory? Perhaps. Honest with self? Certainly.

And not before time.

Isn't that sad.