Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Losing Gracefully

It's been months.  Months since I felt like myself, and today isn't that day.

I cried for hours last night, cried, and then rocked myself to sleep because no one else would.

When I started this blog, I was coming from a bad place.  I had become a recluse, after 2 years of failure and humiliation.  I decided to give my rejoining of society my all.  All or nothing.  I knew then that it was make or break.  

But somewhere under the surface of the weak bravado, the dilapidated pride and useless tenacity I knew that I couldn't really do it.  

I've pretty much failed university.  For the second time.  And in a few weeks, I'm going to have some university administrator tell me my fate.  Tell me that I can't carry on with my course, graduate with my course mates, or return to the poor existence that has become my life.  Tell me that I've wasted 2 years and about £15,000. 

The worst part, the sorriest part, is that I did it to myself.  I take full responsibility.  I prioritised the wrong,trivial things, such as paying off debts and sorting out my life, rather than cherishing the one real opportunity given to me: a second chance.

What hurts the most, is thinking about loss.  Failing is one thing, but the art of losing is one I've never learnt to accept. I think about lost experiences, lost trips, lost friendships, and even in some subdued corner of my mind, lost love.  I will never experience these lost possibilities, these hushed thoughts.  And when I think of him forgetting me, and moving on, or worse pitying me I shake and shatter and curse this irrevocable existence.

This may be the end of the chapter.  Sometimes, there's no road back home.  
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