can you see me now?

How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?

I would point my finger all over the room before I point it at the mirror. I would rip my tongue out before I confess it was my fault I stand here only half of who I was supposed to be. 

Everyone wears their own cross of lost potential and missed chances like an executioner wears his hood: to protect him from the outside world. If I judge myself first, if I throw myself into the lion's den, the jury may spare me. In my blood soaked gown I will call out to God, hoping He refuses me so I have another reason to ease my guilt. I would kneel and beg to see myself again. The one before the pills and guilt, the one with my liver still working properly. 

Is it not how we all would stand the face of time? On our knees looking up, clinging to a distant promise that there is something greater, something bigger than ourselves waiting around the corner.