iRegret.net

I’m sorry that I do not trust myself enough to demand the best from a lover. It seems I am so willing to settle for less than what I know I deserve and want that I box myself into a corner, expecting things from the wrong kinds of men who have shown their limitations in terms of what they offer and what they comprehend. I’m sorry that I feel it necessary, for whatever reason, to torture myself in this way. For when such a man and I part ways (and we always do part ways) the pain of a break-up remains as fresh and shaming as if it were a break with someone truly amazing instead of just another false attempt. I’m sorry that I don’t love myself enough to know that I am truly enough as I am. If love does not come my way, then maybe that is what life intended. Life is still rich and full. Yet I’m afraid I’m blighting my happiness by hankering after the one thing that seems missing while ignoring the richness that still surrounds me. And for that, most of all, I’m truly sorry.

Submitted by: Jude

I remember when our friendship was new, Ellen. Me, that girl in your 8th grade French class. To you, I was cool, beautiful. Me? To me, you were ambitious and frank. And now over four years we have whittled ourselves into a small hole, Ellen. I am at one end of a cramped cave, clutching my dignity, and your best friend. I regret letting our friendship dwindle, allowing you to feel excluded and alone. Allowing myself to be angered by your attempts to control, manipulate. What happens now?

Submitted by: Margaret

I regret trying to drag you back after you broke up with me. Later, I regret trying to make you my friend, even though you clearly didn’t want that. The last thing you needed was another man who wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. I think I ruined your education. I’m so sorry. I wish I had been strong enough to set you free.

Submitted by: d

Jackie, I want to apologize to you first off for where we wound up in 2005. I overanalyzed and nitpicked I believe now because I was truly scared, believing that I had found the one. I know your life has changed in the time that we haven’t spoken but I JUST WANTED TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU. This website is the medicine. I still think about you….

Submitted by: Derek

I regret the line of work that I went into. It has caused me only shame, heartache, sorrow, stress, grief, mistrust, and depression.

But the most important thing I regret is that it caused me to lose the only man in my life I have ever truly loved and will love until my dying day — u know who you are Daddy…. I’m so sorry.

Submitted by: Annie

personally of course i regret everything. not a word, not a deed, not a thought, not a need, not a grief, not a joy, not a girl not a boy, not a doubt, not a trust, not a scorn, not a lust, not a hope, not a fear, not a smile, not a tear, not a name, not a face, no time, no place, that i do not regret, exceedingly. an ordure from begining to end.

Submitted by: Sam

i am sorry i said “how you doing” when i ran into you at the grocery. what a sham to say something like that to someone like you.

Submitted by: Tom

Billy:

I saw a man practicing his golf swing on the subway platform. From my seat on the subway car, I saw an expanse of green. I imagined air that was not city air and could see you lugging your clubs over the rough to the next hole. You know how much my father likes that game, needs it, not for status but from a memory of his not-so-privileged childhood in Vermont (jumping the fence) and of a smiling Ben Hogan. How good it’s been for me that you’ve played with him — two of my favorite men at one of their favorite pastimes. All this is to say, I miss you so. I wish the static of this city, of our jobs and other responsibilities, did not always have to come first. I know they often must — our romantic relationships, yes, they are a priority, to have someone to wake up to. I can regret it while understanding it must be so. But I miss my friend awfully, his beat-up car, our hikes and regret there’s not more time for us.

Submitted by: Connecticut Muffin

I wish I hadn’t needed to please other people so damned much. Women do this, when we shouldn’t or not as a hard rule…I’ve given away too much of my time to the wrong sorts, whether in daily transactions or in love, waiting for a reward that just wouldn’t come. Now I wish (not always but here and there) that I’d known better — that I’d held myself back some, not given everything away with such UNselective generosity, with such misplaced hope for what? Miracles in each of us? For something I thought only I could see or win from someone? I wish I had saved more of me for me, for the miracles fomenting right here. The fact is I wish I’d punched few people straight in the nose. Without apology.

I am ready to do so now (selectively), and it feels delicious and right.

I’m no one’s corner to shit in and to whoever reads this, boy, man, or dog, girl, woman, or little fool: you shouldn’t be either.

Submitted by: Little Miss Sunshine

My Dearest Howard,

I’m so very sorry that I couldn’t love you the way you desired.
For me to say I did the best I could, would be a lie.
You gave me more love in those three years we were together than I’ve received from any other man.
If only I knew how to love you back.
I took your love for granted, because I knew I would always have it.
Now a year has past and I think about you each and every day missing you and wondering if you are happy.
I miss you my Darling and only hope that you are truly happy.

Submitted by: Kat

to my heart:

im sorry for always blaming you….im sorry for not letting you show your true colors even tho i wanted to….im sorry for not letting you show how much you care and for not letting you open up and be as free as you wish. im sorry i dont take care of you anymore….im sorry i gave up on you, i feel like i had no choice but i guess i did….im sorry for not giving you a chance to prove me wrong….for not letting you show me that not everyone i open you up to is gonna hurt me….i regret not being able to let you say i love you and i need you to the person you really wanted to, i regret not letting you show it even though you wanted to…..im sorry i neglected your needs and put you last as if you werent important or necessary for me to live….thank you for not giving up on me.

Submitted by: Kitty

i regret not being able to say i love to the one person i’ve really loved since i decided not to love. she really made me feel as if she cared….no one had done that in years…and she’s the one i disappointed. im sorry i couldnt just forget the world and all my fears and just love you….it kills me everyday to kno that i might’ve hurt you….im sorry.

Submitted by: Katt

Sorry for my continued morose b—ching, my petty resentments, my general impatience with idiotic social duties, or my cynical and sarcastic ‘fulfillment’ of these ‘obligations’ that usually results in deliberate, open retaliatory attacks applauded by most everyone, always to my shock and dismay; for my general ‘I don’t want to be bothered demeanor’, or ‘Hey I’m an anonymous guy just leave me alone’, that has, I feel, really stunted my ability to act freely and fully.

Submitted by: Davy

I read your confession, Goldie, and it’s okay because that time I told you I couldn’t buy the material that you needed for the dress you were making? Yah, I was actually out getting plastered with Jamie and Co.

Submitted by: Diane Gallagher

I regret loving someone who doesn’t love me. I regret thinking about myself too much. I regret my wasted childhood that I spent bent over to avoid the rush of the ‘real world.’ I regret those years of self-conscious woe and self-imposed grief and the fact that my grandmother’s going to die and that I can’t stop it.

Submitted by: Allison

I regret not being better friends to both of you. I know you were both in alot of pain due to your illness, the sadness and loneliness in your lives. I couldn’t take the scathing comments and judgements, but I should have been stronger: it wasn’t aimed at me, it was aimed at life and all its hard knocks. I never told you both how much I loved and needed you, at least not in the end when you really needed it. The worst part is you didn’t know each other; you only knew me; I should have learned from the first time. When you gave me anger I should have responded with love, not silence. I’d like to think you can both forgive me from the other realm, I hope I get a sign that you have. You’re both free of sadness and sickness — please be happy!

Submitted by: Anonymous

This I regret:

In the summer of my tenth year my parents separated and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle on a farm about 20 miles southwest of Chillicothe, Ohio. There was little to do on the farm, apart from playing in three imbalanced playhouses, each with its own set of lace-curtain windows and the nests of many paper wasps (Polistes fuscatus pallipes). I spent much of my time sitting beside a pond along the road that ran from the barn to the back fields trying to determine what I had done to deserve such exile.

A rare companion in my sojourns was a small cat, a barn cat, a half-feral creature that seemingly took care of itself without domestic intervention. This cat never was seen around the house or the back porch with the household cats. It was mangy and ill-fed, typically suspicious of humans but somehow unafraid of me.

One day I decided to kill this cat, and proceeded to grasp it in my hands and attempt to squeeze the life out of it. Yet the cat was too pliable, and squirmed out of my grasp. I took to swinging the cat by its tail, hitting its back against the trunk of a poplar tree. My arms were bloodied by the cat’s defensive scratches, yet I endured, seeing if I would be more powerful than this pitiable creature. Exhausted I threw the lifeless form of the cat into the pond, and washed off my arms. I returned to the house for dinner, shaking from my efforts.

A few days later I saw the cat — much to my amazement, very much alive — as it dashed under the eaves in fear of me.

Of course, as we later learn about the pathology of animal torture, it becomes apparent why this activity occurred.

I have ever since been kind to animals. I would never so much as step on an ant.

Submitted by: Anonymous

I’m sorry that you asked me to marry you. Not only do I not want to marry you, but I now regret ever sleeping with you. I realize you have predatory tendencies toward women that make me uncomfortable. Actually, this has all been a great gift to me, because in the past two weeks I realize I don’t want to get married. Period. Ever. I am comfortable with relationships, but I don’t want to ever feel like property. I’ve got hang-ups, I know. I don’t want to have to argue with someone about which war-mongering country’s policies to indoctrinate the children with. Now by not marrying you I won’t have to take the kid’s bazooka toy away, nor send a child off to the Israeli army. I regret not telling you right away how serious I was about being a pacifist. I sort of downplayed it. For that I am sorry, if I misled you. I’m sorry about how much this will probably hurt you. I feel I’ve mis-represented myself.

Submitted by: L

I regret not going to my sister’s art show. I told her that I couldn’t go because I was extremely busy, but I actually spent the entire weekend with my boyfriend, some Thai food, and a bottle of Alize. Sorry sis!

Submitted by: Goldie Gallagher

I babysat a few times for a wonderful girl named Adrianna. I was in high school (14-15 years old), and she was between 8-10. We both shared the same daycare provider when we were younger, and so had known each other that way for years. When I got older, I was recommended by our daycare provider for Adrianna, as her family was in need of someone to come to sit with her while her parents, Peg and Luigi, went out. I was nervous at first, but Adrianna and I played like old friends. We are both only children, so I felt that we had something in common. She was so incredibly well behaved and happy, and her parents were always sweet and came to trust me, so I ended up babysitting for them many times. I have never wanted children, but I used to think that if I had a guarantee that my child would turn out like Adrianna, I would definitely have one. After I made sure she was asleep, I would wander throughout their house, looking at book titles, pictures, and the beautiful view out their kitchen window, before curling up on the sofa and falling asleep until her parents came home. Their house had such a loving and peaceful atmosphere about it; the complete opposite of what I was going through at home.

Spring break came and I was anxious for sleep and a little time with my friends. I worked at J.C. Penny pretty much whenever I wasn’t in school because I paid for everything I possibly could myself and so was always in need of $. But I couldn’t chose my own hours. So I was scheduled to work spring break — all of spring break — except for one day I had planned to go into San Francisco with two of my closest friends at the time. They tried to get me to work, but I would not budge — as anyone who has ever worked retail knows, managers treat you like anything except a human being, especially with regards to your time. Then Adrianna’s father called. They wanted me to babysit her all day because both her parents would be at work. The day? You guessed it–the day I had planned to explore SF with my friends, my only day off during spring break. If I said no, he would naturally want to know why not. He had already asked if I was available that week and I had told him that I had to check my work schedule. So I lied. A little white lie, I thought, so that no one’s feelings got hurt. I told him that I had to work at J.C. Penney and couldn’t babysit. Things went fine until I actually went to SF. We were just bumming around, looking at all the different people, enjoying the sea air and buying ourselves lunch when who should I run into walking down the street? Yes, Adrianna’s father, Luigi. Can I say that mortified does not begin to describe what I felt? Imagine my embarrassment at having to introduce him to my friends as well. He, however, was a perfect gentleman, and did not mention the lie at all, but greeted me and my friends warmly, and walked on. I had known that he worked in San Francisco–many people, live in the suburbs and commute in to earn their $, but what were the chances we’d be walking down the same street? To my surprise, they asked me to babysit for Adrianna again a few weeks later. When it came time for Luigi to drive me home after their night out was over, he said to me “I hope I didn’t embarass you the other day with your friends.” Now is the time to tell him, I thought, fess up, apologize, admit everything, clean slate, etc. But it wouldn’t come. I was so scared of his reaction, so ashamed of what I’d done, and to people who had only brought me good, that I just couldn’t. Instead I clammed up, sweating inside his car on a misty northern California night. So here it is, my point after all this rambling. To Luigi, Peg, and their lovely daughter Adrianna: I’m sorry for lying to you. I should have told the truth, even if that meant hurting someone’s feelings a little because that’s much better than hurting someone’s feelings a lot when they catch you in a lie. I should have had the guts to explain about the planned day out, apologize, and perhaps offer a discounted fee for the next sit.

I have more guts now if it makes anyone feel better, and I’d never do this same type of thing today. But it has bothered me all these years. It seems small, but it is something that has sat on my conscience. As far as I can tell, the family harbors no hard feelings against me–they gave me a beautiful set of distinctive silver and pink necklace and ear rings as a graduation present the likes of which I have never seen before or since. But I’m sorry for our misunderstanding; and I will always be grateful for the respite your house provided for me from mine; and for the chance to know and care for your Adrianna.

Submitted by: Kendra

i regret not following my heart. i wanted to marry you, more than anything.

i need someone who will always and forever do what has to be done, no matter what, and keep the faith… i didn’t believe i could rely on you to be that person…thought i would forever have to be strong enough for both of us in all sorts of ways. it was too much pressure.

Submitted by: here

i regret the decisions and sacrifices i’ve made to be with the ones i’ve fallen for… their love wasn’t worth all the pain and irreparable damage.
i regret following my heart and not my head and having or more so choosing to watch myself slip away from who i am.
i regret that i allowed pain to make me angry and hardened.
i regret hurting those who have fallen for me.
i regret putting my walls down everytime i find myself in love again.
i am sure i will regret expressing my weakness now.

Submitted by: fearlove

I, too, am a journalist. A few years ago, in the course of trying to track down the ever-elusive Sly Stone, I ended up in Los Angeles, spending time with various musicians. One man I met was a musician named Dewey. A black man in his sixties, living in a cottage on the estate of a far more famous musician. Dewey had spent time in Little Richard’s band; he’d written “Farmer John,” which became the anthem for East Angelinos — he’d done a lot of stuff. We sat outside, drinking Mickey’s Malt Liquor, him playing guitar African-American style, sans pick. Later that week I threw a barbecue at the house I was renting, and Dewey came over. There was an old piano; half the keys didn’t work, but Dewey, somehow, managed to play around them — what sounded, sounded less like RnB than Thelonious Monk, but that wasn’t at all a bad thing.

I failed, utterly, to find Sly Stone. But I took with me a CD Dewey had given me — songs he’d cut in 1961 or so, with the Raylettes. I was just starting out, and not at all connected; told him I wouldn’t be able to do much with it. So I don’t regret that I never did.

What I do regret is that when, six months later, the man who’d introduced me to Dewey told me Dewey wanted to get in touch, I never did. I was overworked, or lazy, or too full of self-loathing to think back on the by-then blown assignment (I never did find Sly Stone). I didn’t think about Dewey again for a year or two, until guilt got the better of me, and I did sit down to write, and wrote, and googled Dewey’s name for the address and — if this were a short story I’d tweak the ending because it’s so utterly obvious — found Dewey’s obit instead. He’d died of lung cancer; I remembered the cough.

Submitted by: Alex

I regret my pre-2002 dishonesty.

Submitted by: Alkie Boy

I regret that we frown on people who praise, who can’t in fact keep from praising. I regret all the distances and differences between us and that trespassing them often seems too great a risk. I regret that to be kind, yes, to praise, and to express regret can be construed as either inauthentic or weak-minded or both. I regret my pulse sometimes and how eagerly it beats. I regret that most of the time you cannot see me as I am — as me, wanting to love you, as flawed but always evolving, trying — that your need to distrust me, to self-protect, is greater than your need to love me, to make a home in me or with me.

Submitted by: Anonymous