Friday, November 12, 2010

NaBloPoMo prompt day

I'm having kind of a rough time being able to write. It's not for lack of things to write about; my life provides ample material for that. It's more that I'm dog tired.

It's molar cutting season around these here parts, and it's a miserable process. I sleep when Cap'n Chaos sleeps, and I comfort him when he's awake. I wish those fucking molars would come in so that I could get some laundry done or run some errands without all hell breaking loose. I'll probably hold a grudge against his molars for the rest of my life. Sad, but true.

So I'm going with the daily prompt from over at the NaBloPoMo site.

What is the biggest sacrifice you've ever made for someone? Was it worth it?

When I was nineteen, I fell head over heels in Love. No - IN LOVE. First time; we all know what that's like. Well, in a fit of teenagey-angsty-Iloveyoumorethananythinginthewholeworldandwoulddieforyou stupidity, I gave my soul to my beloved.

Seriously. I just said "you can have it" without a second thought as to what I may have been doing. Honestly, I'm pretty pragmatic about that kind of thing anyhow. I didn't think there would be any repercussions, much the same way I don't believe I will see pearly gates (or more likely hellfire and brimstone) and all my long lost relatives when I die. It didn't occur to me at the time that I actually did, on some empheral level, believe in my own soul.

What followed was seven years of pure hell. I floundered through my twenties. Bad things and bad people happened to me. I couldn't find my shit, much less get it together. I didn't know who I was, didn't know what I wanted, where I was going. I dropped out of college three times, then out of life altogether. I struggled with addiction and severe depression.  They were the darkest years of my life.

Now, I realize that a lot of this sounds like a chapter in the lives of many people. I also realize that to blame it all on something like verbally giving your soul away to a teenage love is a little naive. But I am convinced that I made a huge mistake saying those words all those years ago.

The number seven is associated with good fortune, luck, and forgiveness in several cultures, including our own. It is prominent in diverse circles of math and science. I won't pretend I know anything past that, but I do know that it took me seven years to earn my soul back after that slip, and I won't be letting it happen again.

Was it worth it? Yes it was. From that one seemingly innocuous youthful encounter, I've learned a great deal about my own belief system, about myself. I was allowed to peer over a precipice that most people simply fall from, and I was shown what life without my own soul would look like. To say it wasn't pretty would be to lay a thin veneer of words over the sheer horror of what I saw.

Every day I am thankful for those seven awful years. Every day I am thankful that I was allowed to leave them behind. I will deal with the psychic and physical scars from those seven years for the rest of my life, to be sure, but I survived for a reason. Even in my darkest times nowadays, I remember that, and I am willed to go on and be the best person I can be for myself, and indeed, for my soul.

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