My Own Mess

     My blog so far has been from my point of view of tragic events in my life, which is too often seeming that I am the victim of some terrible and unheard of storm. I hope this is not the case, but to ensure to you all that I in fact have done things and hurt people that have contributed to some of my experiences I would like to detail part of my problems. I, in many ways, have set myself up for failure.
     First off, I understand part of my circumstances excuse me from a degree of what happened. I was (and still am in many ways) mentally unstable. I struggle with feelings and emotions going too far and warping from potentially helpful or beautiful things into destructive and horrible things. I take out my sorrows too many times out on the people who I love and the people I am close to. Too often I am misunderstood and then I unjustly thrust that anger around me. I, in more than one way, am my own worst enemy. I am the common denominator in all of my struggles.

   I find myself in a struggle that I think many of us are in, working on what we can control and trusting that things will work out with things that we cannot control. The balance is real, demanding, and constantly changing, forcing us to adapt or fail. I have not risen to the occasion many times and that has lead to having the events that I cannot control go even worse. Like coming home early from my mission. I was in many ways destined to come home. The Lord wanted to humble me in ways that no other event could replicate, and so in many ways I was "destined" to come home. The difference though is that I could have gone home without hurting so many people as I did. I was bitter and ornery about my weaknesses, and did not seek out help until I had already destroyed much. I am not excusing others, nor excusing myself, things happened and all parties had fault in them, but I want to make sure that I do not come off as some sort of innocent victim.
     Did I deserve what happened to me? No, I do not think I did, nobody deserves to have those feelings of taking away your own life, or feeling that whatever they do they just are not what anyone is looking for. But did I help my cause at all? Not really, and looking back I am ashamed of what I had said and done at times. I am sorrowful about it, even to the extent I avoid even my  mission friends.
     About five months ago I came to the stinging conclusion that I hated my mission. It was a humbling and horrifying moment for me, because this is what I had dreamed of for most of my life, and this is what so many return missionaries have come home and praised with a happiness unparalleled. Was my belief fading? Was it proof that maybe none of this was true or that it was all some elaborate lie?
     That was a tough pill to have to swallow, and again in my life I found myself wondering if I had been duped or tricked. But quickly after that a flood of memories and times that I was saved and spared and helped in ways that coincidence could not explain, and the feelings of some of the best times of my life came back.
     I realized that it was not so much that I did not believe or did not know, but rather that I had weakened my belief by becoming a victim and falling to circumstance. You see, instead of realizing that I hated my mission not only because it was an incredibly tough road that had emotionally and physically drained me but also because I had really done some harm, I instead attacked the very faith that had kept me alive. I chose to become bitter.
     Looking back on that moment, I think that it is ok that I hated my mission (after all, I still do) but I think for different reasons. I hated the circumstances I was put in, and I hated how I acted, and what I went through, though I do not hate what I have become because of it. It shed light on many of my huge flaws, and has allowed me to take the steps to conquering them. I have become so much more understanding of people because of what has happened to me, and I strive to help people out far more than I have ever before, because I better understand the meaning of pain and hurt.
   

     That is why this blog exists, so I can diffuse potential bitterness inside of me. Since day one I have selfishly dedicated this blog to myself so that I can see who I am and what I stand for. This is just a public journal, and thus tends to reflect what haunts me and what has changed me. I have often mused to myself that this blog should more aptly be named "The Dark Shades of Red" or "The Colors of Deep Maroon" because it has such noir subjects and memories. I do not publish these to get sympathy, nor do I for attention, for any recognition, but rather because I want those around me and those I love to know that I struggle, and that all of these struggles do not have to be in vain. I owe it to you all as an explanation for every text or call left unanswered, every time I had let one of you down, and every time I left no reason nor rhyme. This is so that I can become a better friend, brother, son, and one day husband and father.