Waiting For The Next Train

Waiting For The Next Train

Author’s Note: I keep myself relatively anonymous in my writings here (I’m sure that there’s someone who could figure out who I am, but I try not to worry about it), and I respect the privacy of others. For this reason, I don’t name the people who are in my life that I run into on the street. This is to protect both me and you. Please do not take offence to this, as I am not trying to do anything more than protect my (relative) anonymity.

Ordinarily, I don’t google myself. I have enough things in my life to cause me anxiety without having to relive the mistakes I made over three years ago. Honestly, I find myself reminded of them daily, and I’m not really sure how much more of that I can take.

I can handle the things that are out there, like the news reports. What I can’t handle are the absolutely dehumanizing things that people have said about me on social media. For some reason, the idea that my ex-wife said some pretty terrible things about me online got stuck in my head. I think that idea formed when I read a comment a few weeks back, and it had likely been nagging at me every day since. Yesterday afternoon, it fully embedded itself in my thoughts.

I did something I realize now was foolish. I googled myself and read the social media comments about me and my case in the U.S.

I didn’t like what I found. As I said earlier, it was entirely dehumanizing. I already struggle to see worth in myself. Add to that the fact that my oldest child doesn’t talk to me lately—under the pretences of what happened in the U.S.—and I really begin to feel worthless. I do not believe that one really bad moment in my life should define me. I have tried so hard to improve my life and address my character defects. I know I am a deeply flawed and broken man. Most days I can hold it together. Yesterday, after reading those comments, I was physically sick.

I had to give all of this pause for a moment. I even asked ChatGPT if there were any real threats to my safety out there. I say real because the tone of the discussion felt threatening to me. That’s a hard place to be—when you don’t know if you’re being paranoid or perceptive.

I also realize that despite the progress I’ve made, I still have a long way to go. I look at social media and I don’t like what it brings out in me. I woke up this morning with the realization that I am not ready for social media right now—and likely not for the foreseeable future. I may never be able to handle it. That’s a hard thing to admit. I deleted my Reddit account. I don’t have any other social media, unless you count this blog.

The hardest part of yesterday was the timing. I didn’t have time to decompress after reading what I read. I had to go to work. I felt physically sick, but there are people who depend on me to do my job, so I went. The shift was uneventful, and actually very quiet. That helped me cope, but it also gave me time to overthink. That’s the devil working, whether I like it or not. I finished relatively early and made it home before 01:00, which was a small mercy.

I slept well, but not long enough. That’s normal for Sundays given my Saturday schedule. The ride to church was uneventful. I made a travel mug of coffee, which saved time and money. I was grateful for that. I had a buttered bagel and a donut while transferring from the train to the bus.

Church was alright. There’s a woman there I have an interest in who wasn’t present. That was disappointing. Honestly, she’s the highlight of my day—next only to Jesus—when I go to church. She cares, has a sweet disposition, is close to my age, and she’s beautiful. The problem is that we’re both emotionally and otherwise unavailable. I don’t think she knows how I feel, and I’m not ready to tell her. I’m too broken, and rejection from her would be exceedingly painful and complicated.

I’m still crushed that #1 and #2 no longer come to church.

I spoke briefly with the lead pastor and told him, in broad strokes, what I’ve been dealing with. I knew he had somewhere to be, and I didn’t want to burden him with my struggles. I rode with him downtown and deposited the day’s offering at the night deposit box. It’s an honour that he trusts me to do that—even if he keeps me in sight the whole time. The fact is, he trusts me to an extent, when so many people wouldn’t give me the time of day.

After that, I took the train and bus from Parliament Station. The enemy started getting into my head again. I felt unworthy of love, and even of life. I felt like such a screw-up. Yesterday’s experience reading those comments about my situation in Florida had not faded. I know I made terrible mistakes and poor decisions, but I feel like I’ve paid for them—and then some. It all wrecks my self-consciousness and whatever self-esteem I might have left.

I work tonight from 8:00 to 12:30 a.m., then I’m off for a few days. I don’t have enough hours next week, so there’s that to worry about too. I checked the bus schedule at Tunney’s Pasture and realized I’d miss my connection by about a minute. It was too cold to wait outside for 30–40 minutes. I took the train in the opposite direction to Rideau Centre to kill time and get a coffee.

I wasn’t in good shape mentally, so I stood far back by the wall on the platform. I noticed the signage for the distress centre. I couldn’t help but think the sign wasn’t for me—that few people would care or even notice if I were gone.

I got on the train and stood near the door since I only had to go one stop. I noticed someone nearby and had a fleeting sexual thought that I didn’t ask for and didn’t want. It frustrated me how quickly my mind went there. God, I need Your help to discipline my thoughts. Even knowing how common these thoughts are didn’t bring comfort. All I could think was why—why does my mind betray me like this?

Scripture tells us to “take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (2 Corinthians 10:5). I wish I were better at that. Right now, it feels less like victory and more like a daily fight—one thought at a time.

I got off the train and took the escalator up to the main station. I noticed an older woman who appeared lost. At the same time, I saw someone from my regular Whitestone meetings. They said hi. I said hi back, but my attention was pulled toward the woman who couldn’t find her way. We took the elevator together. I gave her directions to the bus stop and told her when the next bus was coming. The person from Whitestone said goodbye, but I don’t think they heard my response. If you’re reading this, I didn’t mean to be rude.

I got a coffee and some Timbits before catching the train back to Tunney’s and then my bus home. I felt better because I was able to help someone in some small way. Hopefully it improved their day, even a little.

I went home, took a shower, wrote in my journal, wrote this post, and I’ll likely nap before work tonight.

I don’t write any of this because I have answers. I write it because today I chose not to let every thought run free and tell me who I am. Some days that looks like progress. Some days it just looks like getting through the next hour without self-destructing. Today, it looked like deleting social media, showing up for work, going to church, helping a stranger, and putting one foot in front of the other. I am still broken. I am still learning how to take my thoughts captive instead of letting them take me. But for today, I am still here—and for now, that has to be enough.