shame on me

I’m embarrassed how my life turned out. I really am. I’m even ashamed. I know . . that’s a strong word, full of emotion and hurt and, well, shame. I’m full of shame. Sometimes so much so that I can’t look other people in the eye. And at the same time, I’m actually learning to be OK.

My life is, admittedly, a mess. Something I wouldn’t recommend to others. I’m house mates with a person who is over-medicated, let me just say ‘under-employed,’ pretty much can’t believe anything he says, and who texts other women day and night. He has foul language, watches R rated garbage that I often hear through the walls, and has a temper that erupts at inopportune times. Sometimes he can’t actually keep up his end of a conversation because of said reasons, and sometimes we go a day without speaking to each other.

See, a mess.

I have siblings who have perfect lives. Several are blessed with many children and grandchildren and all of them seem [to me] to be productive, self-motivated, kind, thoughtful, law-abiding, God-fearing people. I run into them at reunions, or funerals. I see them on Facebook. I never see anyone who is living with the same circumstances I have.

Sheesh, I think back, and I can actually see how I got here. It’s not like I can blame one other living soul. This is all on me. Sometimes I just shake my head and heave audible sighs of regret and unmet hopes and dreams. Unmet needs.

Once in a while, though, I can see JOY in my life. Enough joy to make it all worth the other things. I love when I go to the temple, and enjoy something . . a message or a lesson . . at church. I love my kids and grands. I love camping and reading, and learning and crafting. I enjoy my job and have a few friends there. I love ice cream. OK, wait . . I love summers. I enjoy scoring at games and watching the athletes in our schools. I love a good book, and I really love a good movie or show on TV that takes some brain cells to keep ahead of the plot. I love deep thinking. I love reading something deep and having an aha moment with the author.

So . . I guess it’s not all a mess.

But, I do find myself wishing it were over and done with. I find myself wishing for the Second Coming and the afterlife. I do find myself wishing I could just wipe away most of what I’ve made of this life.

Shame on me for settling for this. Shame on me for not paying enough attention to details that we got to this. Shame on me for ignoring the obvious. Shame on me.