Moonlight Kisses

new beginnings

jordyn.

Counting my blessings is something I've picked up over the years. It's one the the most basic coping mechanisms one comes to when the world around them is a hopeless pile of shit. What else would you have to rely on, right? Without the notes of good in the world, what are we all here for?

I learned to look at the positive rather than the negative. If my hyperfixation on the fulfilling parts of life could convince me that the flaws didn't exist, I'd much rather fool myself into thinking I have way more good than I actually do. Hence my pattern of forgetting. Instead of counting the myriad of problems bad karma has caused me, counting my blessings has kept me relatively sane.

When I told Beau this months ago, he looked at me like I was crazy. Him, like many others, wondered how the hell someone could be satisfied living in a world like this one. Cruel, unforgiving, unjust. It's a simple explanation really. One that requires almost little to no effort. Just focus on the good parts of life instead of over analyzing the bad ones. When the faulty parts come into play, there's so many in one domino effect that can send anyone into a deep dark pit that's hard to climb out of.

Counting your blessings is different. There's so little of them in comparison to the world's curses that they're easier to sort out and tally up. I've taken note of almost every blessing, little or significant, since the tender age of 11. Back then, from what I can remember through the help of journaling, my blessings were few and far between. Only things I could truly rely on were my friends, my family, and the clarity that each suffering day would come to an end. The sun rose every morning and set later on in the day. The same consistent pattern that would almost never change.

Consistency in my life. That's what kept me grounded.

As the years went by, the world got meaner. The realizations hit me like freights and before I knew it overnight I noticed the poverty all around me. The violence and hatred boiling in the blood of people too affected by the negative effects of the world to go looking for its natural beauty. The reality that one could never know exactly what's going on in someone else's life. That last one hurt me the most because I was and still am too empathetic. I can't help every single person on the planet no matter how much I want to. I'm one mortal person with a life span of about 80 years, give or take. Nearly 20 of those precious years have been spent figuring out who I am and dealing with my own shit. Who am I to help someone out when I can barely help myself?

Thinking about those things could send me into the darkest of spirals. Therefore, I heavily rely on my blessings to help me keep afloat. For every nightmare I suffer through during the night, I get to live my dream during the day. For every dire fuck up I make, I graciously receive a second chance. For every tear I shed, another smile lights up my face. It's all about convincing myself that things are better than they really are. Reminding myself that the refreshed growth will come after the wildfire wipes out everything we once held dear.

This new blessing is one that I'll forever hold dear. Beau's forgiveness. Despite everything that happened, the hurt that I brought upon him, he took me back. Gave me not a second or even third chance but possibly the thousandth one. He was remorseful towards me and I didn't come close to deserving it. I feel awful about how he must have had to compromise within himself in order to take me, a selfish, lying, unworthy person, back into his life.

He's never been that merciful to anyone, or at least not that I know of. He's the kind of person to only give one chance, rare that is. When that chance runs its course, it becomes easy for him to say it was one single chance and that's it. Whoever dared to fuck it all up shouldn't expect another chance. And somehow it was me who changed him in the way. The person who hurt him the most, besides his father.