Venting/Trying to Figure out What to do

So lately it has come to my attention that no matter what I do, no matter what others may think, no matter how much effort I put into relationships, I'm bound to fail. Unfortunately, the failures of late haven't been little things, not to me anyways. The failures have been really offensive, they have been born from carelessness and represented me as a man I'd never wish to be. An apology may repair the damage-if forgiveness is afforded to me-but it doesn't change the fact that there are major areas in my life which I have come to overlook.

I came back from a church retreat this weekend on somewhat of a high horse. While I wasn't outwardly exclaiming anything prideful, nor had I been acting in a damaging nature, inside the feeling grew that I was doing things right. The feeling that swelled within had me feeling that I had been making all the right decisions, that I was well-liked by all, and that regardless of my effort, people would flock to me. I have taken friendship for granted, and to some extent forgotten what it means to properly engage in this bond. I have spent much time praying that I'll be a good husband, reflecting on what it means to be married, and what my role will look like, and I've neglected to care for the people around me.

I feel terrible. I feel absolutely terrible that I am about to get married in 3 weeks time, and there are people I have neglected to invite simply due to fear of offending them. If anyone knows the way to express this feeling, to overcome this issue please let me know. We are having a small reception, and in that comes the challenge of how invites are sent out. In the one wedding that I've attended, it was common knowledge that to be invited to one, without the other, was a major faux pas. I have thus spent hours trying to make a list that works, and feeling guilty over names of people I care about whom I wouldn't be able to invite. I want everyone to come to see my love for Leah, I want EVERYONE who cares, has cared, may care, thinks about us, knows us, etc to celebrate with me. But I let fear of awkward social conventions dictate my decision and have had it smack me in the face. I don't know where to go from here, but I feel as though regardless of my decision I've already approached this wrong. Please do weigh in, cause I'm feeling VERY hurt by the knowledge that I'm doing the wrong thing, and I need advice more than ever.

While I vent my regret, I know nothing more to say to express this remorse. Perhaps the words not said, the sentiments not expressed, have already done irrepairible damage. If not, I hope to try and fix this mistake, and am running out of time in which to act. Excuse my possible errors as I madly click away here on my laptop, this reflection was written out of true sentiment, and not filtered, edited, re-worded or altered as I feel it's best for me to be as real as possible about my reflection as thoughts come and go. Forgiveness is all I may ask of those who feel like I've let them down. The best thing for me is to know who you are, with the hope that I can become a better man through humility and grace. I'm sorry, and though I've not shown it, I hope you know I have come to value every relationship that has gotten me through the years of struggle and hardship.

Thanks for listening, my virtual therapists.

One Man's Thorn.

I was going to take a poetic style, try to wrap some alliteration and rhyme around the emotions of my soul but it didn't seem real. Poetic language shouldn't be something you plan, it should just happen. With that in mind, I get to the point.

I have this idea that my sin is a burden I carry alone. I have this image that every time I sin, every time I do something I know I'm not supposed to, every time I feel a guilty pang at my inability to walk a proper path there's this thorn digging itself deeper into my flesh. At times, I wish I had an actual thorn there painfully reminding me that I'm straying, an itch that pulls me not towards darkness, but rather to repentance. It seems sin is always something I'm lured into, and righteousness is something I must choose against this temptation. I wish it were easier, that I could remember easier to pay attention to this thorn. Unfortunately, pain is only an afterthought.

Anyways, the image I have is of this thorn as my burden is very true. Yet this thorn, or perhaps these thorns, that I plant do not hurt me. The pain, I know, is something I'm privileged enough to forego. Though I wish it on me, I wonder of the agony, feeling every thorn I am responsible for dig itself in. This is not a pain I am capable of comprehending. Each time I lie, each time I get angry, each time I lust, each time I disobey, follow selfish ambition, fail to show love, horde my wealth; each time I sin, to feel this sting is too much for me to handle.

Then this image within my head reminds me of a crown of thorns. It reminds me that somewhere on that crown, my thorn sits sharply prepared for innocent flesh. I feel no pain, I could not bear the pain of my own sins, and yet a man bore a multitude of thorns. When I feel a desire for that sting to remind me to repent, the sting pales in comparison to the image of the cross. It's not the sting that hurts, it's not the pain I'd feel that hurts, it's not about the way I'm physically feeling. To know I'm putting a thorn between myself and that man is pain. To turn my back on sacrifice is pain. To reject the gift of forgiveness in an effort to fix things myself, THAT is pain.

What I Hate

I hate the fact that I care if nobody reads what I write. I hate the fact that I count the number of replies to an event, and that when the rejections outweigh the number of those attending my heart drops. I hate the fact that I can remember exactly what it feels like to be without close companions, and that those fears are what motivate me most to seek others. I hate the fact that regardless of what I do, I cannot manufacture for myself the embrace of friendship, or the feeling that I have the attention of those who I hold dear. Every moment I feel unheard this hatred grows, every moment I'm interrupted or ignored, silenced or neglected, overlooked or simply discarded it feels as though I'm digging deeper into a hole of solitude.

Worse still, I hate the fact that the relationships with the people I care most about are sometimes built and standing on shifting sands of obligations, small talk, and frivolous jestings. I hate the fact that I am unable to sustain with sincerity true conversations of belief, conviction, passion, and care. I love without loving, protected from vulnerability by a relational distance that rarely moves beyond the realm of acquaintance. I pray for an understanding of how one is able to become a person of importance. No, maybe that's not the right phrasing. Not a person who has importance, but a person who extracts important information. One who moves beyond the surface to interact on a level that surpasses the guarded chatter of lifelong friends who know nothing about the areas of hurt, need, love and joy their loved ones feel into the realm of true friendship.

Is there some sort of contract entered into? Does it take a spontaneous late-night conversation to spark this interaction? Can it be duplicated, recreated, manufactured or pre-planned? Can I become a man who seeks truth, seeing through the sheltering disguises of hesitant broken people into the hearts of those with whom I interact? I desire nothing greater than an understanding of how we work, how I can overcome both the barriers I set in place, and those put in place by others. I don't know how one begins a man-to-man without suggesting or implying an awkward bromance, I don't know how to look into the eyes of the people I've known longest to ask the questions I've always wondered about, and I don't know how to share without forever alienating the ones I'd do anything to keep close.

So, out of ignorance, not desire, I perpetuate the status quo, divert attention with trickery, showmanship, wit, and humour while secretly wondering about the unspoken bits. My mind slows down as I ignore the voice of sincere curiosity and begin to exist on an energy-saving mode, toned down from the pursuit of understanding and strong relationships into this self-constructed role of a man without depth who sacrifices opportunity for security.

With cowardice do I retreat, expressing my true thoughts behind a veil of anonymity. Sure, you know me, but the me you read about and the man you see are far from the same, and by the time you next see me I might as well be in costume.

Rambling

On a beautiful day such as today, to waste time in petty rhyme seems trivial. On a beautiful day such as today, to watch hours waste away seems criminal. On a beautiful day such as today, to share my mind's work in kneejerk fashion, with lyrical passion and instant expression in points of digression is perhaps the only way to truly live. Transcribing cognitive snapshots of my mind's work, painting prose through the recordable means of documentation, etching thoughts from caverns of unused potential, my brain is alive and enjoying the sunshine of its dreamful existence. Every day is beautiful, every moment a chance to relish in the natural beauty that is existence; whether rain or snow plagues the earth on which I stand, when I return to this space of reflection the sun shines through. When I stop to consider consideration and cease the cessation of thoughtlessness, the darkest days are illuminated from the inside out.