My therapist thinks I have a God complex. She doesn’t say it out right but most jokes are true. “You can come back down here with the rest of us, Opal, we aren’t perfect but we get on just fine.” I have this thing about pedestals, and I like to put others, and sometimes myself, on them. I am hoping to get to the bottom of this but I’m not quite sure how. I tell myself that I am seeing the best in people, or that I’m just a perfectionist, or any excuse to not have to change my behavior or the way I look at the world.
My roommate is going through “it” so to speak. I usually give him a really hard time but I’ve tried to back off since he dropped this huge, life-changing bomb on me about a week ago. It’s one of those things where you never think it will happen to you, or anyone within your circle. I digress. He’s met this guy from Chicago who has been moving his bus ticket home back for at least a week now. It’s the third morning said visitor has stayed over. I’m making conversation, “So what do you do?” “Oh, well since you asked me a direct question I will give you a direct answer, I used to be a drug dealer. I’m trying to get away from that.” We immediately embark on a real conversation.
Recently, a former friend and colleague of mine was arrested for intent to distribute and trafficking. He was always a little strange, but he hasn’t been himself in quite some time. The last conversation we had, I asked him why he couldn’t give me a direct answer and his response was “It’s my job to talk in circles.” I hope that he gets the help he needs. I’ve known him for seven years; I’ve participated in at least three interventions that I can remember. At some point, people have to be held accountable for their actions, lack thereof, or at least show remorse and change their ways. I come to this conclusion after I having discussed it with my therapist. I expressed my empathy for him, because he will surely spend a long time in prison, or get out and get himself murdered, and her response was “What about all the people he hurt?”
Seven years ago, I was in the middle of divorcing a drug dealer, who also happened to be my on-again-off-again middle school sweetheart. Saying I’m a sucker for love is an understatement, I wholeheartedly ignore people’s flaws. I tell myself that they will change, that they will get better, but they won’t. The only way people change is if they change themselves. I spent several years of my life on drugs, wasting away, out of my mind. I knew that wasn’t me, it was not who I wanted to be, but I was still an addict. One day I said I can’t do this anymore, and then some time passed. Another day, I kicked out my ex with all of his drugs and said I wanted a divorce, and then some time passed. Another day, I used a similar prescription drug to ween myself sober and drank way too much, and lots of time passed.
I tell him all of this. I usually don’t share such deep, dark secrets with strangers. I tell him that it’s possible to get out of that life if you want it bad enough, because hope always makes things more possible; it’s a seed. I know this because I hoped and wanted for a long time, and eventually I chose to be better, but you have to nurture that side of yourself. I hope every day that I can be happy where I am, that I can accept the strengths and weaknesses in myself and others, that I can have integrity and patience. I hope for the humility to know when I am wrong and the strength to move forward. I hope to continue to love myself and make good decisions that will support my true desires, to not intentionally hurt myself or others. I hope for the strength to be who I am and follow my heart. I hope for the real and sometimes the imaginary. I hope.
Opal Worrystone 