The Butterfly Effect

So today was a day of Stephen King movies on some movie channel. I was all excited, because they were showing two that I don't own...."Dolores Claiborne" and "Christine". Both books are excellent, and both movies could never do the books justice. But they rarely ever do.

I fell asleep during "Christine" and woke up to a phone call from mom. She gave me some news about the family and decisions that were made, which are neither here nor there.

While talking to her, "The Butterfly Effect" came on. Now, I've never seen the movie. The only reason I started paying any attention to it was because Ethan Suplee was in it as a punk rocker. I paused it at that scene, finished up with mom and watched the rest of it.

I missed the first third or so of it. It's not a wonderful movie. It's not even really a great movie. But the theme of it, going back in time and changing things done wrong, strikes a chord with everyone. They chose a really good premise to get the audience to understand the basic meaning.

And it has made me think. There were so many years that I wish I could have gone back and changed things, made different decisions, choices and moves. Of course, going back with what I know now. And then the time came when I realized it all happened for a reason. And it made me who I am. And I don't want to change that.

But, that feeling came up again. It was like seeing an old friend that you clung to in really bad times. That feeling of regret, wishing things could be different. Wanting to change the past. As with many things I've let go of, when I'm in the right frame of mind (or put there by a movie, for instance) that feeling comes back. The things released have an uncanny way of trying to come back, putting a bright gloss on what they really are to make you fall back to them again.

My regret over things done in my past were glossed over with pretty wrapping, trying to soothe me into falling right back into it. My regret wanted me back. It tried all it could to get at my soul, reminding me of all the things I've done to myself that have hurt my family and friends. All the things done to my soul by others that could have made me a much happier person. Reliving life with the knowledge I have now is, I must admit, very attractive. Righting the wrongs. Getting myself on track much earlier in life. Straightening out those things that were crooked and swollen. Getting rid of those who were toxic, or not even having them in the first place.

But if the movie did all that, it also did much more. Each time he went back to make things better, the outcome changed for all involved. And each time, some were better off, some were horribly worse off. He just kept hurting the ones that he loved in his attempt to make it all better.

The movie made me realize, once and for all, that there is nothing I would do over. Nothing. Those things that I think would make me a better person if they were different would have only made me a different person, not a better one. I wouldn't have who I have in my life now. I wouldn't be where I am now. I would be a really bad replica of who I am.

I'm glad there is no chance to go back, because in my youth I would have relived things over and over again until they were "right". I would have made sure that things worked out for the best for me and those I loved, but I would have never had a future. I would have spent all my time in the past, correcting it and reliving it.

The lingering sadness I feel at this moment is finally, once and for all, saying goodbye to my old friend regret. When you live with something for what seems to be your entire life, saying goodbye is very difficult. But I'm finally ready. I talk about not having regrets and not wanting to change anything, blah blah blah. But that was me trying to reassure myself that I felt that way. Thinking the more I said it or wrote it in surveys on MySpace the more I would belive it. The more it would become truth. The more it would become my reality.

But now it is. Letting go of something that seems comforting when it is really destructive is so difficult. It leaves a hole. There is no other way to describe it. There is a hole. In the pit of my stomach. And I know it will be filled with love and happiness in a matter of mere moments, but right now, it is dark and empty. I felt the same emptiness when I forgave Brandi for what she did to me those years ago. I felt it when I forgave myself about the baby. I felt it when I finally realized my praying to "God" for Pap to die to end his misery didn't really kill him.

And it's back. Hell, the empty hole in my stomach is an old friend, popping by to say hello and make me remember what it is to forgive and move on. An old friend with razor arms and a boiling chest. Hollow eyes and a smell of death. But the friend that I clung to for so many years because it was familiar, it was known. And there is comfort to be had in holding on to something that creates the cycle of dependence. The more you rely on it, the more you have to have it. And the more you want it.




I have different classifications of "favorite" movies. The ones that I loved as a child that take me back to those feelings, the ones that are so horrible that they are wonderful, the ones that always, no matter how much I have memorized, make me laugh. The ones that remind me of certain times in my life. The ones that make me think. The ones that make me change.

"The Butterfly Effect" is now one of those favorites. Not because it's a good movie. Not because of stellar acting. Not for the special effects. But for the simple fact that it has occupied my entire brain since watching it. It has put on celluloid the grave truth behind the wishing...it shows what could really happen if we had the power to go back.

It helped me release something that I thought was gone. And now it really is.

I would like to say I will miss you, regret. I would like to say that you are welcome back at any time. I would like to say all those things......but I don't mean them. Get the fuck away from me. You are no longer needed. There is no place for you in my life anymore. You had your fun with me, and now I'm done. Too many years wasted in your razor arms.

In fact, you do not even exist any more. There is no point in writing more. You are done.