Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
Throughout our lives, we all have moments where we do something fucked up, or where something fucked up happens to us.
Sometimes we deal with these moments as they happen; we reach a place of acceptance and let go. Other times, we recoil in horror at the thought of facing them and bottle that shit right up.
Sometimes we don’t even realise these moments have happened in the first place.
Have you ever been walking along, and you suddenly remember something embarrassing from your childhood?
Unfortunately for us, these memories don’t go away until we face them. They don’t just sit about doing nothing either. Your subconscious mind is constantly trying to work them out in the background, and throughout your life they can influence your mental and physical health, as well as the way you think and interact with the world.
“Skeletons in the closet.” “Inner Demons.” Etc.
I wanted to tell a skeleton pun, but I don’t have the guts for it.
The truth of the matter is, most of us have so much of this crap built up that it plays a large part in our belief system and behaviour, affecting our lives in a profoundly negative way. We don’t even realise it, because through all our cultural beauty and evolution, we’ve not yet reached a point where this is taught in schools.
I’m now going to open up about a few of these moments; Things that I feel guilty about, that I haven’t told anyone, or that I felt to be shameful or wrong.
In writing this, I hope to take another step in healing myself, and help others to do the same.
Here are some examples that I’m working through currently, or that I’ve dealt with in the past:
When I was five or six years old, I had a ritualistic practice of pulling my penis out under the desk of my school’s lunch hall. Eventually an older boy caught me. Several people pointed and laughed, and the news soon spread through the small school of perhaps thirty people.
Feelings: Shame, Embarrassment.I had a habit of lashing out and biting people, including my sister’s friends and several of my classmates through primary and early high school.
Feelings: Guilt, Embarrassment, Anger.I used to have issues with drugs. I would skip lunch and spend my money on weed, then sell some of it for a profit and buy junk food when I was home from school. My parents had financial troubles, and they thought that I was stealing money from them.
Feelings: Shame, Guilt, Unworthiness, Frustration, Mistrust.I once bought something that I thought was MDMA, when tested it turned out not to be. I left it in a drawer for a couple of weeks, my parents found it, and were convinced that I was smoking something dodgy, which they blamed for my anger problems and violent temper. It took me a long time to regain their trust.
Feelings: Unworthiness, Frustration, Mistrust.I had a good friend that I lost to drug abuse. He’s alive still, but last I heard he was taking heroin. I know that it’s not my fault, he had a rough childhood and a fucked up home environment.
I tried to help him several times by offering support and a place to stay. In spite of that I still feel responsible in a lot of ways.
Feelings: Guilt, Frustration, Anger, Grievance, Sorrow.I currently have issues with self-worth and confidence, which I’m writing about in another post.
These are a few of the bigger ones for me, but small things can affect us deeply as well. One of these smaller things keeps coming to my attention, and though it would be easy for me to keep ignoring it, I’m going to resolve it now.
I was with my girlfriend the most recent time it came up. It hit me with a moment of guilt that made me feel the need to open up to her about it, and now to all of you.
Pictured: My inner monologue.
This is my public apology.
Up until recently, I worked as a bicycle courier for a prevalent and rather hated-by-workers food delivery company in the UK. I won’t reveal their name, but it rhymes with “Deliver-Poo”.
The job was competitive, and dozens of forcibly-freelanced riders would fight to book one-hour timeslots on any given day. Many people were blocked out of work for weeks at a time, and I was one of them.
I was living in the Scottish coastal town of Dundee, and in order to work I’d take the train through to Glasgow on a daily basis, spending probably half of what I could earn that day on transport.
Cyclists aren’t treated as well in the UK as they are in the rest of Europe. Dedicated cycle paths are hard to come by, taxi drivers own the road, and everyone on four wheels sees you as a direct threat to their ability to drive obnoxiously.
Combined with the long hours, awful weather, and incentivised per-delivery pay structure, it made for a very stressful job.
I would often cycle in an overtly “balls-to-the-wall” manor: over pavements, down staircases and through any gap in road or walkway that I could find in order to get more deliveries done and appease the Rent Gods.
I was very careful not to hit anyone, and I rode slowly on the pavements. Still, people didn’t like this and shouts of abuse were common.
I subsequently developed a habit of flipping people off: Chavs, businessmen, children, old ladies, it didn’t matter; anyone that shouted at me or gave me a dirty look would be promptly flipped-off.
It got to the point where I was reflexively flipping the bird to people that weren’t even talking to me, or were trying to ask me something. I just assumed every interaction was an affront.
One of these times, I was flying down Glasgow’s St. Vincent Street. The lights had just turned green and the last of the people were crossing over from one side of bustling, pedestrianised Buchanan Street to the other.
One man was lagging behind, and as I flew around him at ungodly speed he called out “Move! Get off the road!”
To which I, without missing a beat, screamed “Go fuck yourself!”
The man wasn’t addressing me, however. He was concerned for the safety of his children, who were crossing the road in front of him.
From their perspective, and the perspectives of the dozens of tourists, shoppers, and families around them at the time, the blurred trace of some fluorescent-blue cunt had whizzed through their lives, become enraged by their audacity at wanting to cross the road safely, and left nothing behind but the echo of obscenities and the faint smell of Chinese food.
Pictured: Glasgow, on one of the year’s five allotted days of reasonable weather.
I realised as soon as the words had left my mouth what I had done. I wanted to go back and apologise, but I was too ashamed of myself.
I knew then that I had a problem, and worked from there to break the reflexive habit. Still, the memory of that man’s jaw hitting his knees and the mix of terror and confusion in his children’s eyes will linger with me for a long time.
So, this is my public apology to anyone that I flipped-off or shouted at in my time as a bicycle courier. I was in a rough place, though that’s no excuse. If this, by some act of God, reaches any of you, please feel free to tear me a new asshole in the comments below.
I’m choosing to forgive myself for this, now and forever, surrendering the feelings of guilt and shame. I hope that you can do the same.
And to all of you reading this: Pay attention when a painful or embarrassing memory comes to your attention. It’s there because your subconscious believes you ready to deal with it. It’s easy to ignore these things, push them back, flinch. It’s rewarding to face them. When you begin to tackle smaller obstacles, the bigger ones will come to the surface.
I have some issues with self-worth that I’m working on at the moment, and I understand that it’s not easy to forgive yourself for things that you’ve done in the past. Hell, it can be harder yet to forgive others for things that have been done to you, but it gets easier with time and practice.
Anyone that judges you for being emotional does so because they’re afraid of it themselves.
Sit with the way that you feel, accept it for what it is, forgive, and let go. Emotions are there for you to feel them, and once you do they tend to leave you alone.
Thank you for reading. If you liked this post, please consider up-voting it on Medium or visiting my website.
Comments, criticisms, corrections, and conversations are all appreciated.
With love, Ben.