I wish, I wish. I wish I knew what it meant to really accept yourself; to like the person you are and who you are becoming.
I wish I could remember what real joy felt like. I can’t remember the last time I felt it, if ever, which can’t possibly be true but … I just can’t recall it.
I wish my father wasn’t dead; that I could have really said good-bye while he was cognizant of me and remembered my name. And more importantly, that I could still have him – here – to learn from, know, grow with. Too many lost opportunities.
I wish I knew how to love my Mother, to accept her for who she is, just as I want to be accepted for who I am.
I wish I was a better friend; I want friendship but I’m just no good at it.
I wish that the cloud of depression, the sink hole, wouldn’t pull me down so often.
I wish we didn’t have so much stuff, which just creates a cycle of want, acquire, move, clean, dispose of, replace.
I wish I had confidence that my kids are going to be okay, that my mistakes and who I am won’t hurt them.
I wish I could remember positive experiences from growing up, because I know that growing up wasn’t ALL BAD, but I can’t remember.
I wish, I wish. All I can do today is wish, for although I am up and out of bed, my head is screaming in pain and my heart is heavy; all I can do today is wish.