People say that hindsight is a beautiful thing.
Mate, hindsight is a dick.
All it does it leaves you feeling guilt, shame and stressed.
The other day I was on the bus; an old man shouted at me for being in his way when he was trying to get off of the bus (there had been people getting off on the other side of me so I was waiting for them to pass on that side before moving to let him off). Afterwards (in hindsight) I thought perhaps instead of shouting back at him, I could’ve gotten off to let everybody off and be out of everybody’s way before then hopping back on. At the risk of the doors closing on me and then driving off without me and leaving on the street (which has in fact happened to me before!)
And earlier this week, I had a very verbal altercation with a supply teacher at work, who’d felt that I had undermined him in front of a student when in fact, all I’d been trying to do was defend the student. He was very aggressively rude to me. However, after storming out of the room fuming and cursing the day he was born, later on (in hindsight) and in conversations with friends and other teachers, perhaps I could’ve handled the situation better.
However hindsight shouldn’t excuse the fact that the old man on the bus should not have shouted at me and should have been less self-absorbed, and hindsight should not excuse the way in which the teacher had spoken to me, regardless of how he felt about the situation.
I very frequently look back in hindsight upon my fallout with my family.
In hindsight I should not have left it so long to express my feelings about our relationships.
In hindsight, although I did ask for space in order to figure out what I truly wanted, not calling, or texting because I actually couldn’t figure out what I wanted (or perhaps was too afraid to admit what I really wanted) definitely aggravated the situation causing irreparable hurt to my sister especially.
However, how far should one go with hindsight? Is it right to say that in hindsight I should’ve dealt with my mental health issues earlier? I was a child when I realised I was depressed. As somebody who works in a school, I would never expect my students to take responsibility for their own mental health; if they were depressed I would expect their parent or guardian to take responsibility for helping them or falling that – if the child refuses help like I did – to have sympathy for that child and not blame them. And definitely not throw it back in their face as an adult that they failed to take the help that they were offered.
As an adult I could’ve chosen to deal with my issues earlier instead of falling down the rabbit hole of drugs, alcohol, parties and sex to block out the darkness.
But I didn’t.
I could’ve opened up to my loved ones about the bad thoughts, the bad voices, the bad memories clawing their way out of the box I assumed was tightly sealed, instead of lashing out in anger for no apparent reason.
But I didn’t.
Hindsight is a bitch. Now I’m no longer talking to my family because in torturing myself, I also tortured them; I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years too because of it. However, Epilepsy tortures me enough as it is and if people aren’t willing to forgive me for my blindness then how long can I let hindsight remind me of my mistakes?
It’s a tough one.