What if....

So, I typically only think about this specific "what if" when I am feeling particularly down on myself or feeling like life is passing me by and I am never going to accomplish what I want. I think about this because when I was a kid I wanted to be an actress and as I grow older I still find that I love the idea of it. When I was 13 or so I was in the local Albertson's grocery store with my mom. I was messing with my mom, picking on her, laughing, smiling, happy. A woman approached us and said that I had something special about me and asked me to go to an audition at her modeling company. Crazy, right? I think about the what if's. What if I had gone and that would be my "discovery story". Would I be happy now? Would I have made money? Would I have not had to go through some of the horrible things I went through? I try to comfort myself by thinking about what happened that year. My mom passed less than a year after that day. I would probably have missed out on that little time I had with her, I probably wouldn't have become so close with my sister, and I probably wouldn't have formed the relationships that I hope will be lasting friendships. But it makes me sad to think about what could have been. Is that my only special moment? Was I supposed to not go to that audition? Will anyone ever think I am special again? I think back to the things I would have missed out on if I had become something to do with that agency. I had meaningful, loving moments with my mother, bonded with one of the coolest people I knew, had some laughs in between sobs, discovered my sister is my ultimate protector, had a defining moment in high school that I’m sure the person doesn’t remember. Right after my mom died and I returned to school, my bookbag broke in the middle of the hallway. I was a 14 year old freshman who was always picked on. I barely held it together as I picked up my belongings. I carried an armload of stuff to my math class. I was being bullied in that class by a guy but that’s another story. I had one friend in that class from middle school. We weren’t very close but I thought he was awesome. Anyway, at the end of class he carried my books for me. I know this seems so silly or insignificant but in those days after losing my mom and the sea of forced and faked sympathy, here was this person showing me that humanity existed. That someone was capable of being nice to me and making that day a little more bearable. In my early twenties I began working at the library. A place that has always and will always be special to me. I thought it was a job but I got so much more out of it. I realized I am stronger than I think, I met some really amazing people who somehow managed to bring me out of my shell, I met someone who made me feel a little normal which was a huge feat, and I learned that having a friend meant they would tell someone they were a jerk for hurting my feelings and that they needed to apologize. And I found a best friend in the unlikeliest place. It is no secret that I do not trust people especially men. Yet my best friend was a man. I credit him with restoring a little faith in mankind. He showed me that it was possible for me to trust a man and that it just might be worth it to take a chance on them every once in a while because they could turn out to be awesome. I appreciate his kindness and generosity although he likes to think it doesn’t exist. Though I still have those what ifs that torture me and threaten to rip me apart, I try to see the good moments. I think I’m more regretful of the pain I went through over the years. The disappointment, the betrayal, the moments that I wish I hadn’t had to deal with. The bitterness that has taken over the once happy girl, the negativity that refuses to let me go. That is perhaps, what I really regret.