There’s nothing quite like the feeling of giving up. As I stood in the kitchen of my restaurant a few years back, I gave up. I allowed myself to feel exactly what I wanted to feel for so long. All it would take is a pull of the trigger and I could move on. It wasn’t for guilt. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was for me.
It was quite a change from the moments I had when I would close the place up at night, turn on all the neon and mow down a bowl of in-fuckin-credible ice cream. It all started because of someone who was put in my life that I can’t quite come to terms with being OK with.
It was a snowy drive from the Tri-Cities to Spokane one night and out of the blue, a car spun out in front of me. Little did I know, that the person in that car would be the one to point me in the right direction… I never said being pointed in the right direction was a fun ride.
A handful of months later she would clean me out of everything I owned. All I had left was some clothes and a toolbox that she forgot to grab out of the outside storage closet.
A day or so later I let myself go… To the recruiter. I had no one to stop me and I had no clue if I’d make it out alive. I never would have suspected it would be a guilt trip turn suicidal thought that would put a stop to all of it. War, women, booze, shitty tattoos and a Harley Davidson was all I had to show in the end. What I didn’t show was everything that was bottled up inside me.
I keep trying to come to terms with what I really need. It’s time for me to get up, brush off the bullshit excuses I’ve given myself for being so stagnant and move along.
I’m starting to see myself in other people. I see who I was at one point in my life and it pains me to be unable to help them make a change. There’s a little more I’ve got to do before I pull the trigger once again. This time, it won’t be the same trigger I wanted to pull before.