Regrets, I've Had A Few

It is one thing to say that you should not regret. Not regretting in
practice, however is an entirely different and much less achievable
task. There is a wealth of knowledge and reflection on this subject.
Mark Twain wrote about it. Performers from Edith Piaf and Frank Sinatra
to Depeche Mode sung about it. But what real advice or comfort can we
gleam from this? Very little you might say.

You can follow the logic that specific time or space has elapsed or
collapsed. You cannot undo or relive events in the past. You can be
philosophical about it, look at the big picture and say to yourself
that 'life is one long lesson and there are no mistakes as such, just
lessons learned and challenges met'. If something bad reoccurs in your
life that 'you hadn't learnt the lesson the first time around'. All of
this you can say. But can you satisfy your heart with logic?

As your brain congratulates itself on your wisdom and 'handle' on the
situation, your heart lays quiet, like a mugger in an alleyway awaiting
your careless approach. Ready to jump out and shake your certainties
into a trembling mess.

To know about regret, to reason over the pointlessness of regret does
nothing to ease your sleep. It doesn't stop the sweat pouring nor dam
the flow of nightmares. What kind of advice is this anyway, 'No point
regretting', When you cannot take this advice yourself?

Your heart burns, an ice-cold ache, a sharp and sour stabbing, like a
solidified lump of dried ice heaved deep in your chest. It has become a
hole that cannot be filled. It is called emptiness. The best your new
loves can do is to superficially plaster over it. There is no going
back. That you are empty is not to be denied; you know it. Those around
you feel it. It pores through the cracks in your off-the-peg
confidence, that you make such an effort to look so inconspicuous in.
You made decisions you knew were wrong. You knew these things would
come back to haunt you. Your future life flashing past your eyes. And
through your veins. This is not a story about murder or anything
terrifying or cinematic like that. This is not really even a story.
This is a stocktaking of all the small betrayals, tiny events, actions
or even thoughts that may have lead you down the wrong road.

"But there is no wrong road, as life is a lesson&;#8230;" Shut up!
We've already said that there is no room here for philosophising or
petty theorising. This is real. You hurt. All the time. You are
desperate. Empty. You are just like everyone else. Except worse. You
are numbed from yourself but open to all the pain your world has to
offer. How can it be that as you are numbed from acting, your reception
to pain increases? How can it be? Who cares how! It is. You hurt. You
regret. You cry. You toss and turn. You regret many things you didn't
do out of cowardice. You resent the way things are turning out. You are
you. This is your life.

(c) 2002 Vincent Pollard