So, I’m pretty much realizing how much I was the epitome of “too little, too late.” In the past couple of years, I had repeatedly asked people to do certain things.
At times, it was to give me space. At other times, it was for gigs. Even more times, it was for affection or being physically present. Sometimes it was small, like just sharing a post or trying to get someone to help me out with something on my business end.
Well, everything kept falling through until I actually relapsed. People then tried to crowd around me. I was starting to get better…
And now, I just got horrible news about my financial situation. This was preventable if my family had stepped in when I asked them to. It’s just been horrible all around.
And all through this time, I keep hearing people say one word — the word I hate the most.
That word is “sorry.”
I hate “sorry.” I hate it with a fiery passion. You know why? Because “sorry” is rarely ever used when it’s something innocuous, like bumping into a person at the mall or dropping a paper on the ground.
“Sorry,” in my experience, carries weight. It’s the word people use when they know they should have stepped in, but chose not to do anything. Or worse, “sorry” means that the person in question knew they chose to hurt you.
I’m sure certain people are sorry. I’m sure they will also feel remorseful if I somehow do better and they find something I have that they want me to provide.
I hate “sorry.”
It’s the phoniest word I can hear.
Saying you’re sorry generally means that you’re fucked on the situation at hand. And almost every single time I’ve seen people use this fucking word, they do it to make themselves feel better — not the person they hurt.
It’s a word that they use to absolve themselves of doing anything, on the lines of, “Sorry, I can’t do that right now. You’re a bit of a liability. I’m sure you’ll have someone else help you out.”
It’s a word that they use when they want to seem like the supportive friend, a la, “So sorry this is happening to you.”
It’s a word they use to show that they are the socially-acceptable levels of remorse after doing something, thanks to lines like, “I’m so sorry I did that. I know it meant a lot to you. But you know, I’ll make it up later.”
It’s a word that people use as they betray you with a smile.
Or a word they use to try to put their foot in the door when you finally cut them out for abandoning you. A simple, “I’m so sorry things ended the way they did. Let’s talk it out, eh?”
Or better yet, just the simple “Sorry.”
I’m sick of sorry.
It’s poisonous to the mind, body, and soul. It affronts my senses in a way that few things do. I physically recoil and feel rage build up in me when I hear that word. I loathe that word.
“Sorry” is the food you smell at the bottom of a fast food place’s dumpster late at night. It’s the last words that the discarded hear. It’s the last word that the worthless hear, often after being told you’re “totally worth it,” while they do nothing.
I use the imagery of fast food dumpsters for a reason. It’s the word that people say to those who have no worth, to those who are bitten into then tossed into the garbage, often while people mutter that they feel “guilty for wasting food.”
“Sorry” is the word people say when they throw out food — food that could have fed the homeless, but just sat in garbage bags because profits were more important than people. I can hear it now: “I just feel so sorry that we have to throw these burgers out. Well, company orders…”
And lord knows, I’ll likely hear that in my eulogy with the way things seem to go in my life. My situation is dire. That last tax case issue was the final fucking nail in the proverbial coffin.
I literally couldn’t afford my payment plan. They put me on it anyway. And then I lost two major clients. I was so sick, I could barely work at all. I still kept fighting.
I tried to help myself. I started going to rehab for the kratom I was using to keep my writing going, even though I honestly believe that I could have kicked it without medication if people had just stayed with me when I asked them to. (They didn’t. But hey! I got “So sorry!” as a phrase.)
I was doing well on Suboxone. I was just starting to heal. Then this happened. I asked my lawyer. They said that was all they could do. I asked family for help. They said they couldn’t afford it.
So, here I am.
I’m fucked.
And all the work I did trying to make my situation better just went up in smoke. And it’s not like I didn’t ask. I did. I got “sorry,” after fighting this shit for years.
(Author’s Note: No, I’m not going to hurt myself. It’s just that my current situation is literally incompatible with continued organ function and it’s a matter of time before my body gives out at this rate. I fought, but no man is an island. So, I’m pretty much stuck waiting for my liver or kidneys to quit on me.)
You want to know what I want to hear more than “Sorry?” Well, I want people to say any of the following:
“How can I help you out?”
“Do you want to hang out with me?”
“Do you need anything?”
“Do you want me to help you promote your writing?”
“How can we fundraise for you?”
“Do you want me to offer advice, or just listen?”
But hey, I’m over it. I know that I’m going to likely hear that goddamn fucking word again and again.
So if this was a downer post?
Sorry.
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