Sorry

Because I didn’t know it would lead to this.  Do you think that if I knew it would lead up to this, I would have. . .   Wait a minute, I’m fucking this up again, aren’t I?  Of course I am.   I’m sorry.  If I’d have known it would lead up to this, I wouldn’t have done this.   I’m sorry.   I’m sorry I did this.  I’m sorry it separated us, I’m sorry it made you have to live with your parents and I’m sorry your parents are abusive.   I’m sorry you had to donate almost everything you owned and live in a long term hotel.   I’m sorry it caused you to go into debt.   I’m sorry you’re in a dead end job with no future and I take responsibility for it.   I’m sorry and I’m sorry that sorry doesn’t fix it.   Yes, I know it was my fault and my first amendment rights aren’t worth shit.   I’m sorry I hurt you.   I’m sorry I’m never content with what I have.   I’m sorry I’m not there to take care of you, to cook for you, to clean for you, to massage you, to make love to you, to cuddle with you.   And I’m sorry I threw it all away for nothing. I’m sorry my parents are . . . I’m sorry for my parents and all my in-laws.   I’m sorry.  I’m sorry the words I’m sorry don’t change anything.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  

     I did it because. . . I’m an idiot.   Because I’m an egocentric son-of-a-bitch.   That’s why I’m making amends.   Because I fucked up.    Yes, I know you couldn’t have done anything.  I know my legal guardians are assholes and should have let you be my legal guardian.   I think I wouldn’t have wanted you to be my legal guardian instead of them.   Goddamn it, they threatened me to sign it.   You think I wanted to move into a tiny shithole full of violent morons, who . . . Sorry.   This isn’t supposed to be about me having a pity party.   It’s supposed to be about me making amends for what you went through because of me.   

       See, I am disabled and I do have impulse control issues.  And . . . You’re right.   Making excuses shouldn’t be part of my making amends to you.   It’s just it hurt me too.   I know it hurt you more.  I know I’ll never measure up to what your ex was and how your ex or our dog treated you, and I’m sorry for that too.    What would you like me to do to make better amends . . . I don’t have a Time Machine.   I wish to God I did, but . . . I don’t.   

       Why am I doing this?   To stay sober and to clear my side of the mess I created.   Yes, I recognize that also sounds selfish, and I should be doing it because. . .   But, remember the serenity prayer.   I know I’m not a Christian.    I took my inventory though and . . .    I don’t think non-Christians can go to confession.   Look, I know your dad’s still angry about the host and I’m sorry they hate me, but you don’t sound too fond of them either.  

      I don’t know if this is part of my amends.   Why don’t you tell me what I need to make amends for?   Because it should come from me, from my heart, and I should figure out how to fix it and help you on my own.   I’ve been doing that and you’ve told me I’m making my amends wrong.  

       Search my heart.   My heart is callus: it’s numb like my soul.    I can’t laugh, I can’t cry, because if I let myself feel, it’ll hurt too much.   I know it’s selfish, but remember what they say on aeroplanes, “first put on your own oxygen mask and then help the person beside you.”   

    Real romance is thinking of you first.  Ok.  I’m sorry.   I know our dog took on the ocean to try to save you and your ex put you before his kids, but I got nothing.   

     If you want someone else, date someone else.   Nobody else wants you.   That’s not true.  The dog wanted you and your ex wanted you, and there are lots of fish in the sea.  Then tell me what a proper amends SHOULD look like.  

    Actions speak louder than words.   Ok, what action.   What do you want me to do?   Take on the ocean for you?   I let you live with me and I fucked up.   You want to live with me again, but the shithole I live in won’t let anyone stay overnight.   Assholes.  

      I’m a medium, not a telepath.   I don’t have any idea what you’re thinking.   I know that.   You already said that and I . . .   This is about me making amends, not arguing about whose fault it was.  It was my fault and I’m sorry.  

      Yes, I did and I do.   No, I don’t see how that would help.  Ok.   So, if I did do that, would you then accept my amends?   Ok.   I think I can handle that, but it stays between you and me.   Because if it doesn’t, I’ll have more people to make amends to.   I think I should make amends to the other people I hurt before doing that.   I love you too.   I will.  

*

   I’m the opposite of a procrastinator.   If something needs to be done, I do it so it’ll be off my list of things to do.   My parents didn’t accept my amends and my sponsor said I need to make living amends to them.   My sibling said she needed me to call her every week and then she’d accept my amends.  Some amends were to the deceased and I had to go to a medium to make them.  

     Then, I went back to her to do what we agreed to.  Just make sure she doesn’t tell anyone and God only knows I’m not going to tell anyone.  

     I put the music on.   Music from the 1980’s.   I hate the 50’s and the 80’s.   Then, I invite the cinematographer in.   Bet other alcoholics have never made amends like this.  But, we agreed and I do love her and do want her forgiveness.   I had to rent a tuxedo for this.   These are her demands . . . or should I say requests.  Prom scene.   Prom music.  I didn’t go to my high school prom, because. . . that’s a different story.  

      But, there’ll be a limousine, on my dime, waiting to drive each of us home.   If I do well in her fantasy, there could be sex in the back seat, but probably not, or I’ll have more amends to make.