Regrets...I've had a few...

Years ago, while I was going through a separation with my ex husband, depression and confusion hit hard. My brother took one step inside the little basement apartment my ex and I had constructed for ourselves at my parents split-level ranch house and said, “Jeez, Becky, you used to keep such a clean house, look at this place! It’s disgusting.”

I simply looked past him and mumbled, “What do you want?” A somewhat punitive conversation ensued and the rest is history, buried somewhere behind my dirty undies and a day old, half eaten bagel.

That comment has stuck with me for years: “You used to keep such a clean house…” and coming from a man I always revered, feared and admired, it crushed me. Somewhere between the basement of my parents’ house in NH, Silver Spring, MD, Austin, Texas and Mac, Oregon the manifestation of my depression has morphed into an OCD-like preoccupation with cleanliness.

Instead of focusing on the materialization of my depression, I want to focus on the root of that depression. Try as I might, it could be a number of things: my perpetual cycle of loss and grief, feeling as though I am no one’s “numero uno”, remembering everyday that I am a distant memory to my parents and siblings due to a religion that forces our estrangement, feeling stuck, regretting life choices and past or current hurts. Those only name a few.

Currently, I’d say I feel all of these things in a given day. When people ask me how I am, I have no idea how to reply.

“How was your day?”

I say “Alright, thanks. Yours?” That’s my response 99% of the time.

What I want to say is: “I’m really not sure. I'm caught up in a whirlwind of emotions that carelessly throw me around each hour and I have no idea how I got from point A to point B or how I'm able to fake the smiles and fight the tears and voice quivers throughout the day. My eyes are like faucets. The earth is screaming, the environment is suffering, please recycle and love on all furry babies. The state of whales, sea lions and deforestation is killing me. What is up with the Pacific Garbage Patch? Consider using a bidet rather than toilet paper. Do you compost? Can I have some wine? Will someone cook for me? Can I come home to a clean house that I didn’t clean? Will Trump be the next president? I need to workout. Please don’t eat that, don’t you know about factory farms? Please don’t tell me you kill chickens at a factory farm on the night shift, I don’t want to know. I love the language and culture I was raised in but when these hands hit the air, I remember my family and that I am dead to them. I have to go home and start supper. Are these sweet potatoes organic? Do my step kids hate me? I’m not their mom. I know I never will be. Does my husband think I’m terrible? Does he regret marrying me? Twice? I shouldn’t say half the things that come out of my mouth. Does he still think I’m cute when I’m raging for no reason? Why am I so angry? I don’t want Squibbs to die. My dogs are the only ones who get me. I love Lucy. Why am I so indecisive? Every move I’ve made, I’ve been unsure.”

Those are just some, not even all, of what happens in my brain on any given day, minute to minute. Does that make me horrible? Neurotic? Manic? Perhaps in need of medication? Have I said my last regretful words or done my last regretful deeds? Regret. To many, it’s an ugly word undeserving utterance. To me, it reminds me that I am human and it’s OKAY. It reminds me also that my words and deeds may be irreparable and forgiveness may not be an option. If I felt no remorse for said words or deeds, then I guess that would make me a sociopath. I have a conscience, one that polices my every move in some instances. Now if I could just catch myself before I said or did anything that would be great. I don’t excuse my behavior and day by day I don’t even understand it myself.

#regrets #depression #forgiveness #awareness