Split-Screen Sadness - Revision.

Revision. 
See Also - Split-Screen Saddness (March 6th)
               - Who's Gonna Save My Soul Now? (April 28th)

"I can't wait to figure out what's wrong with me,

So I can say this is the way that I used to be"

I interpret this line differently tonight.  Of course, the original excerpt holds it's meaning, but I see it in a different light.  A different perspective.  I don't know if this sentence can even be true...I think of situations in my mind.  Situations of my own doing, situations that are ancient.  Well over a year, almost two.  Two wrongs most definitely do not make it alright, John...sorry, but you're wrong.  Two wrongs make it worse tonight.  Two wrongs make it even more unbearable.  Two wrongs bring the ceiling down on my own being.  One wrong was enough, but I suppose two is justification.  Could it ever be?  When something is the "way that I used to be" but I don't dare speak a word of it to anyone, because I feel like my own skin is still permanently stained?  Even with people whom it was directly involved with?  I don't dare speak of it.  Taboo.  You might as well tie a rope around your neck and jump from a bridge.  Don't make a sound.  Don't even hint that it existed.  There's no substitute for time, but is there a substitute for guilt?  Shame?  Pain?  Haunting?  Memories?  That for years to come I will be meticulously comparative and analytical?  Is there a substitute for that?  There should be.  Well we share the sadness.  This split screen sadness.  I figured I could use my age and stress as an excuse.  I was young and stupid.  But why does it still feel like it was yesterday?  Even when my actions were outdone ten fold?  Others mistakes make mine look like just another bump in the road.  But I still feel like it's a mountain.  But I suppose that's because I only speak for myself.  I am only accountable for me, and what I've done.  How do you deal with it?  I'd like to learn...desperately.  I guess I'll figure it out, like everything else in life.  I am my own author, reader, and critic.  I am my own artist, artwork, and fan.  I am my own victim, witness, and suspect.  I am my own arresting officer.  I am my own prison.  I am my own sinner, confessional, and forgiver.  I am still learning.  Maybe one day I'll figure this out.