I HAVE NO MORE REGRETS

I have lived a life full of regrets. I never had it easy from the get-go. Born with a mother who died in childbirth and a father who wasn't fit enough to raise me, I never got to know either of them. I was in the foster care system for nearly my whole existence. The people who adopted me didn't give a damn about me or any of the other kids. They just wanted to look honorable in front of the public. But still, I never gave in. I held out my hand, reaching and clawing at hope, because without hope, I would be a nobody that would wash away and never leave a stamp on this plane. "Where did it all go wrong?" I used to ask myself, but to be honest, it never began.

I remember one night when I was about eight years old. I had just been placed in with a new family. The house was immaculate, like something out of a magazine. My new "parents" hosted a dinner party to show off their charitable act of taking in a foster child. They paraded me around, making sure everyone saw how noble they were. But later that night, when the guests were gone, they left me alone in the dark kitchen with a cold sandwich for dinner. The contrast was stark and bitter—public compassion versus private neglect.

Even with those thoughts nagging at me, I was even worse. I had all these problems, yet I used to pick on vulnerable people. Talk about hypocrisy. I'm man enough to admit that I wasn't a good person at all. I remember a classmate, Tommy, who was smaller than the rest of us. One day, I pushed him into a mud puddle just to hear the other kids laugh. The kid looked up at me with hurt and confusion, and that image has haunted me ever since.

Nobody ever saw the cover that I had put up to hide the real me, so they all assumed I was some jerk who tried to garner as much attention as he could. But to be straight with you, I don't think that's a lie either. I did a lot of things to catch people's eyes. The spotlight felt exhilarating, to say the least. I remember the rush I felt when I won a local talent show. The applause, the admiration—it felt like a drug. Despite all of that, admitting what you are isn't changing. Should I get cookie points for telling the obvious truth? No. I believe that when a person not only realizes the problem but confronts it, that's when they are able to pat themselves on the back.

That's the thing, though. I know all of this, yet I do the complete opposite. I guess that's what really disgusted me about myself. The way I turned a blind eye to all the things that were right in front of me—the advice my brain tried to give, the people that tried to reach out their hand to connect with me. I still ran away from human connection, not because I didn't want it, but because I was scared that they would just throw me away and not give a damn about me like the place I grew up. I used to wish that I had a real family, related by blood—a mother who gave me unconditional love and a father who would stop at nothing to protect me. But I got neither. That's what I think truly messed me up, what stunted my growth.

There are a lot more people out there worse off than me, I know it, but it still doesn't make me feel better. It might for some, but in my opinion, it's just trying to make yourself feel better about what you are. Change has always been an option for me, but I never grabbed it, nor did I acknowledge it. I am to blame, and so is my upbringing, but if I had to be completely honest, it's me that I blame more than anything. So, when I finally got what's coming to me, I accepted it with open arms.

It was I who drove the car while on drugs and alcohol. I remember the sirens blaring and the flashing lights as I swerved off the road. I can still see the horrified faces of the other drivers as they veered out of my way. When I crashed, the impact was so intense that everything went black. I woke up in the hospital, my body aching, and the weight of my actions crushing my spirit. It was I who suffered the most, not the person who collided with me. So, when I realized that the mother and child in that car were safe, I had the biggest smile, knowing that for once, someone else hadn't lost something because of me.