The Right Thing

Why must things be so complicated? Why can't anything ever be simple?

Why can't it just be enough for me to love my baby and do what's best for her? Why must there always be some drama, some problem, some mistake? I hate being human sometimes. I hate knowing that so many of my problems are my own dang fault.

I try to do the right thing - or what I think is the right thing. Or I don't do anything because I want some time to make sure I know what the right thing is. And I mess things up. I make them worse than they were, worse than they should be. I hurt feelings. I say stupid things. I get all passive-aggressive and I act or write without thinking and then I feel rotten.

I hate that it's not enough to just do the right thing, the best thing, and be done with it. There's always something else to worry about, some other choice to make, another right thing to be done. And I am so rotten at figuring out what the right thing is. I get it all backwards and I disappoint myself and others. I make things worse than they would have been if I'd just made a decision and stuck with it.

No one who matters is angry. But even as a child I've preferred outright anger to gentle, reasonable disappointment. I grew up in constant self-imposed fear of disappointing those I love, those who are important to me. I make a mistake and give the wrong impression and I end up depressed, crying. Not because I feel sorry for myself, but because I feel generally rotten for hurting people I love. For making them think I don't trust them or think them capable of doing what's right for them.

How do you apologize for that sort of thing? I haven't a clue. I try and it feels insufficient. I can do what I should have done in the first place but it feels like too little too late. Or just enough, but too late.

Every time something like this happens, I feel like I must surely have ruined things. That it will be awkward or uncomfortable instead of the way it was before, which was great. I think to myself, I've done it this time. That's it. Every time, I get a reprieve. I wonder how many more I'll get. How many more times I can get back on the horse before I ruin the ride and the horse gets sent to the glue factory.

I hope I never have to find out.