u/tacticalcowboy92

The Fool

I was a fool, not realizing the pain I was causing others because of my own self-destruction. I was foolish enough to believe that I was truly alone and that I didn't belong in a place of peace, love, and happiness.

But I'll be the fool who fixes what I broke. Whether that means putting the pieces back together one by one or starting over completely, I will become a better person—not the fool I once was.

I know I can't change the past, but I can change what I do from this moment forward. I want to be better, and I will be better.

Not just for myself, but for the people I love and the people I've hurt along the way.

I may have been a fool, but I refuse to remain one.

The other night, it was said to me something that stayed with me:

“I felt safe in a chaotic place.”

But why would someone feel at home in a place they work so hard to escape?

Is it a genetic flaw—

something passed down,

something carried like a chronic illness

that no matter how hard you try,

you can never truly shake?

I don't like these places.

I don't like these flaws.

Yet somehow,

I find myself returning to them all.

I pray.

I plead.

I beg to be better than the person I once was.

I acknowledge that I fell,

and for that, I cry.

My apologies are sincere.

My heart is heavy.

My soul is pained.

Sometimes,

I wish I could simply fade away—

not because I want to disappear,

but because I long to escape

the parts of myself I cannot seem to outrun.

The road ahead is long.

It is difficult.

And I know there may be more pain

than I ever thought I could endure.

But whatever I must face

to conquer a flaw that was never my fault,

I will face it.

Because I may have inherited the struggle,

but I will not let it define me.

I may have fallen,

but I will rise.

And one day,

I will overcome.

I’m just a volunteer firefighter—

answering calls in the dead of night,

pushing back my chair at the dinner table

when someone else’s world is falling apart.

I’m just a volunteer—

working long hours, chasing a future,

then showing up anyway

to train, to learn, to be ready.

I’m just a volunteer—

looking into the eyes of a stranger,

holding steady in their chaos,

whispering, “It’s going to be okay,”

even when everything says it’s not.

I’m just a volunteer.

Not for money.

Not for glory.

Not for fame.

I’m just a volunteer firefighter—

because somewhere, on someone’s worst day,

saving a life is worth every second of mine.

The other night, it was said to me something that stayed with me:

“I felt safe in a chaotic place.”

But why would someone feel at home in a place they work so hard to escape?

Is it a genetic flaw—

something passed down,

something carried like a chronic illness

that no matter how hard you try,

you can never truly shake?

I don't like these places.

I don't like these flaws.

Yet somehow,

I find myself returning to them all.

I pray.

I plead.

I beg to be better than the person I once was.

I acknowledge that I fell,

and for that, I cry.

My apologies are sincere.

My heart is heavy.

My soul is pained.

Sometimes,

I wish I could simply fade away—

not because I want to disappear,

but because I long to escape

the parts of myself I cannot seem to outrun.

The road ahead is long.

It is difficult.

And I know there may be more pain

than I ever thought I could endure.

But whatever I must face

to conquer a flaw that was never my fault,

I will face it.

Because I may have inherited the struggle,

but I will not let it define me.

I may have fallen,

but I will rise.

And one day,

I will overcome.