“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” ― Mark Twain

Per my last post, I said I would give greater detail about the "bad" man that I am. I use the quotation marks to signify that I understand that I am not a "bad" person. And I believe this most of the time. There are times however that I am consumed by the idea that I am a bad person and beyond any hope of redemption. My soul cries out for absolution that I am convinced I do not deserve. It is this that I wish to focus upon.

I will start with some more history. I am an older brother to Jim, three years my junior. I was not a good friend to him while we were growing up. Putting aside the usual sibling rivalries, I was very mean to him and to a couple of my cousins. Their crime? Being younger, easy targets. They would be feel the brunt of my anger and hurt at the outside world. I could not fight back at those who would pick on me, so I gave to my family the punishment that I felt others needed. 

If these events stopped as I grew older, I could almost (almost being the damning word here) believe that I acted no different than any other child in my circumstances. This is not the case, however. Going into my teens, I made the situation worse by being a total tool to my brother. I constantly treated him as if his very presence were an inconvenience to me. The last few years I was at home, Jim began acting out in his frustration, causing great strife between he and our mother. When I moved out it was as if a great weight had been removed from his shoulders, and he returned to his normal self. The strangest thing about that situation was that it took me several years to realize that I was the catalyst for his behavior problems. Once the catalyst was removed, so was the danger of explosion, metaphorically speaking.

Even in my adulthood, this attitude toward him did not change. There was one event that I recall that my mother called me during the late evening or wee hours of the morning, I don't recall which. My brother needed someone to take him to the hospital. I refused because "I was tired and had to work the next day". Pretty pathetic, right? This was the story of my life back then in a nutshell. It was all about me. It was about what I wanted or didn't want. It was about how I didn't want to be inconvenienced. Or if I did do something, what was I going to get out of it. 

As I've grown older, I have changed. I have experienced a spiritual awakening that has opened my eyes. I have discovered the real joy of giving of self. I have found that sacrifice is its own reward. There does not need to be a pay day, because the act of giving to someone has been uplifting to the one who received the gift. The reward is the knowledge I have made a difference, even if its just a small difference. My joy of faith lies within this passage:

Matthew 25:40 (NIV) “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

But somewhere along the way in this journey, there was a split in the road. I don't know where it happened, or when. I just know that my mind divided into two halves. On one half, you have the man that I have become. The man that I want to believe is the real me. The other half seems to be a raving lunatic that is compelled to punish me for the sins of my past while at the same time, not allowing for any hope of redemption. Most days I am the wiser, kinder person. But more and more, the lunatic has had greater sway. And that, ladies and gentleman, is what is scaring me. I feel like I am losing this fight.

That being said, I am now seeking help for my disorder. I am very early in the process so all of these feelings are fresh, raw, and all too real to me. I am saddened by the fact that it took me so long to reach this point and at the expense of those who love me. I only hope that one day I can rebuild the trust that I blatantly destroyed. And I pray that I can put my demons to rest...