Sand in the Vaseline
Why do I feel so out of place? So tortured by my own self? Angry to the point of exploding bouts of rage? Upset that I can’t find love?…
It’s a constant struggle. Same shit, different day. Half of it is bullshit, and the other half is just shit.
I never thought I’d be here, like this, in this place. I thought by now, I’d be a success, with lots of money, women, and all the happiness I could ever want. But its not to be. I sit in my apartment, alone, isolated, and unchanged. Sure, I’m going to school, and I have friends, but I don’t let anyone get close enough to really make them see what lies beneath. I put on a superficial front of happiness, while I rip myself to shreds on the inside. I can’t even talk to women all that well, as friends yes, but as something more, never. I’m an unbalanced, awkward fool that hates himself, but only wants to be himself. A walking contradiction. A callous abscess. A beast of burden, but only to myself.
I wish it weren’t this way. I wish I didn’t hide myself away from it all, living in fear. I change with the world, but that change never gives me the closure I seek. All the medication, therapy, and talking can’t change the fact that, though I’m not alone, I FEEL alone. My struggles are my own, and no one gives a fuck. I know that’s the truth, and I’m okay with that, but it still hurts. The pain is just too much, and I’m getting tired of it. It’s an old habit, a routine, one that will destroy me if I let it.
I’m falling once again into darkness, a pit that I’ve crawled out of more times than I can count on my hands, but I don’t know if I can make it out alone this time.
I just want to feel some kind of satisfaction for once, to know that I mean something to myself, not just to other people. I know a lot of people care about me, but the lack of caring for myself is what makes it a problem. But the other issue is that I’m being told to do so many different things, sending me off in different directions… I can’t follow them all, but I get the overwhelming feeling that they won’t help me, nor cure my mental ailment. I genuinely appreciate all the help, but it does nothing to ease my pain. It masks it.
And that’s what I’m always doing. Wearing different masks. Just like my fuck up of a father before me. I’m trying to break the pattern, but the pattern is creeping up on me. I hurt on the inside. External pain is nothing.
At this point, I feel that this will pass, as everything does, but what if it doesn’t? What if I keep complaining about the same things? Never finding a solution? What if I am stuck in a tormented haze for the rest of my life, unwilling to find a proper way to cope?
I’ve been sober over a month. I thought it would help, and it has, but its also made things worse in the process. It’s made me look at myself more deeply than I wished, and just recognize my flaws that much more. How much time I’ve wasted, how I’m not so young as I once was, and that my life means nothing to my family.
I’ve tried to be a good man, but even with all that good karma, my life has been filled with sadness, loss, hatred, betrayal, and darkness. I just wish it could all be over, not at the end of a noose, but at the end of a sentence.
The Human Condition.
This week is the clusterfuck of all clusterfucks. Everything good, everything bad… It’s pretty much happened.
I started the week with a BANG, producing a short film on Tuesday morning from 2am to 11am. It was hellish, but went well overall. I don’t think I can complain too much about it since I have yet to see any of the footage, and I was more concerned about getting to bed. I slept 14 hours after that, so I’d say it went pretty well.
Yesterday was horseshit. One of my classmates didn’t have a single fucking person on his crew, and it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen performed. I had to do 5 different things at once, plus he didn’t have a fucking clue what he wanted going in. I know I might be a little harsh, but a project like this, you can’t fuck around. It’s how it goes. I take this shit seriously. I wish other people did, but I guess that’s how it goes.
Retarded Dystopian movies starring dead bitches don’t help my mood either.
And finally, last night, I wrote 4 1/2 pages of my first feature script. I didn’t feel the need to write more, even though I should have. I thought they were great. My teacher thought they were shit, but he and my classmates tried to help me. I was hurt because it was what I imagined in my head, but I guess that my vision isn’t always the best version of it. It still doesn’t feel too good.
Now? I’m reminiscing about not having a girlfriend, being a bit of a pervert, and accepting that I intentionally isolate myself in order to not get hurt because I’ve been hurt so many times. I’m also preparing for my first directing project in almost a year, which happens on this coming Wednesday.
I’m not stretching myself too thin anymore, but I’m still healing from stretching far beyond what I thought I could. It seems to me that for every good thing I do for someone else, a bad thing occurs to me personally. Why is this? Does the universe hate me so? I know I haven’t been great lately, but I try so damn hard…
I just wish that my efforts were rewarded with something more tangible, something less toxic, and something exciting to wrap around. I feel like I’m losing part of that spark that makes me me.
Maybe I’m just all balled up inside. Twisted, feeling under-appreciated, majorly hurt. Doesn’t matter how good things are going, I truly feel this way. What appears fine on the surface, isn’t necessarily what’s true deep within.
With my birthday around the corner, I have nothing planned, nothing to do, and everything I want to happen. I wish I didn’t feel like I was so alienated from my friends.
It all boils down to the question I always ask myself; Why is it I can save everyone else, but I can’t save myself?
Man, this was a restful week, but shit, it’s back on the grind starting Monday afternoon.
I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf. Start cooking more, clean my apartment more than once a decade, eat a bit healthier, paint more… I think I’ve just hit the point of boredom with most things.
For example, I have like 50 Xbox 360 games, almost all of which I’ve beaten, and I don’t feel the need to play them. Why? Because I get bored once I’ve done everything. People don’t realize that when I play a game, it’s all I play for however long it takes to beat it. I manage my time wisely, sometimes spending days just working on stuff. I beat Mass Effect 3 in 35 hours and did EVERYTHING (even though the ending was balls). Way back when, I beat Oblivion, getting every single item, completing every single quest, doing every single task. That was 120 hours, but worth it.
I just seem to be finding myself more inclined to spend my time doing more meaningful things. I would love to hang out with my friends more, but my insecurities towards calling people is a problem. In the past, I was rejected every time I tried to hang out, save for maybe a few willing souls. Over time, that fear only grew, to the point of near alienation, and personal isolation from everyone. I fear that no one really likes my company, that all I do is talk about me, and about my problems… It’s unnerving. I wish I didn’t think the way I did, or talk the way I did, if only so that I could feel more at peace with my compatriots, but alas, this is not to be. I am a strange beast. I have had too much experience in too short a time. My mind is overloaded by the madness surrounding me, just trying to keep myself in a stable state to do what is necessary.
I’ve tried not to talk about my Asperger’s too much anymore, or bring it up, but even that tends to slip out. For those unaware, Asperger’s is a form of Autism dealing with social cues. I am on the very edge of the spectrum, as I usually have no trouble whatsoever communicating with others, or interpreting things the right way. For years though, my father, he always introduced me with this ‘condition’, hindering me from having any real conversation, and using it as an excuse for my most basic of thoughts and actions. Though I am well aware of all this, I am still having trouble assimilating to this new facet of my existence; acceptance.
You see, I am accepting of everything except for myself. I always think I can do better, to the point of pushing myself so hard that even my own mother tells me to stop it. I cannot help it. I don’t want to be #2, I want to be #1, and that requires sacrifice, WILLING sacrifice. If I don’t put in the required effort, I feel doomed, a failure, and near suicidal. I take everything I do professionally VERY SERIOUSLY. When I have a failure, it compromises how I feel about myself, knocking down my ideals on the pedestal. It’s excruciating that I do this to myself, but my willingness to just give in is more disturbing to say the least.
The constant, looming on my mind, though one that I wish were not so, is a companion in the romantic sense. I constantly complain of loneliness, though I am the one who puts myself in this position. I wish that it were so easy for me to just come out of my shell, but I can’t do it. I have to be forced. My other problem is making a move. I don’t know how, and I don’t know what I need to do. I clam up. I get nervous. Not to mention I look like a trainwreck sometimes. I wish my High School experience was more of a learning period than just a cavalcade of shit, and the inability to have any kind of experience before I hit adulthood has definitely crippled me in this respect. I feel pathetic, pathetic sometimes to the point of crying myself to sleep. My virility is nothing, except a burden I release with my hand. It’s definitely not up to standards.
This all being said, I suppose I cannot complain too much about the state of my life. I am definitely the happiest I have been in a while, but it’s strange that such boredom is the catalyst for change. I don’t know… Maybe it’s something else I can’t see? I can see quite a bit, for self-awareness is a bitch, but no one really tells me what they can see… I never get a clear answer as to why anyone likes me, or wants to read my rants, or even cares to support me. It’s really a mystery, despite how pretentious and oblivious that makes me sound. It’s true.
At this point in the journey, as always, transitions are occurring. I don’t know where I’m going to go from here, but the ever constant of forward movement remains intact.
Proceed with Caution.
Crown of Thorns
I am fucking depressed.
It’s not because I have too much going on right now, or too little. I’m just in a (legitimately) sick, and lethargic state.
My mind is a blur of sadness…
Let’s start at the beginning;
I’ve been sick since Saturday, but the cold has only gotten worse since then, with the peak being today. My dreams were of my Father, and his side of the family. A nightmarish group of individuals who only seem to care about themselves.
I remember lying in a room not dissimilar to my living room with my old dogs, and looking out at the night through the window near me. The cityscape was strange, ethereal, with lights cutting through the streets in the darkness. I heard my grandmother calling out to me, trying to find me, and my fear creeping up on me. I kept completely quiet and still as I heard the group travel up and down a set of concrete stairs outside the door. It began to open on it’s own, and no matter how hard I pushed, it continued to open. I laid back down on the couch, trying to hide from them, but alas, the door swung open, and I was cornered.
My Grandmother called out to me, asked me why I had not called, why I had not kept in contact with her, feeding me lies and guilt that overwhelmed my very being as my extended family looked on with cold, unrelenting eyes. I tried to respond, but I could not come up with the right words to explain my position. The guilt was too great, and my mind too shattered.
I woke up with blood in my mucus, my nose stuffed up, and a general ill feeling. I cleared out my pipes, then walked into my kitchen to make some medicine. I turn on the light, and BAM! It shorts out. Aggravating to say the least.
I looked at the box of Theraflu and realized that it would not be enough to circumvent my symptoms, which were worse than before. “Fuck!” I shouted as I threw the box back onto the counter.
I called my mother to inform her of my plight, but the conversation became about how I didn’t have insurance, and how it wasn’t her responsibility to help me with finding insurance due to my age(though I had asked her many, MANY times to help me prior). It soon degraded to nagging until I just exploded on her. The foul feelings within appearing only briefly, then subsiding as the exchange came to a close.
I got dressed, and jumped in my car. I felt like I couldn’t hear anything as I traveled to the pharmacy down the street.
The past few hours have been quiet once again, but all too quiet for my taste. The medicine helps, but it does not help my psychological state. I feel mindraped, lost, uncomposed… Like a living illusion. A ghost. An apparition.
I suppose that watching Ancient Discoveries about Torture Devices cannot have helped, but I do not think it hurt either. I feel… alone. Like I don’t exist.
I have dealt with this many times before, but recently this emotion has come into play more in this new year than ever. Some of my friends, though very nice, seem to forget I’m around. I guess I can’t blame them, since I hardly make contact on my own terms. I don’t know why I just don’t talk to people because, if anything, all I want to do is talk. I talk to myself all the time. I live within my own mind, having conversations with myself to determine which course of action would better suit me, and which would make me appear to be something I’m not. The only thing I’m trying to be is me, but sometimes, even that backfires.
I can’t say I blame anyone for feeling weird about me, for not feeling trusting, or understanding. It’s hard to understand someone who is completely aware of themselves. It’s frightening. Also, due to my extensive life experience in such a short time, it is intimidating. People are worried I’ll go from 0 to 60 in 10 seconds or less, and yes, I do have my moments, but I’m trying to get better. I’m always trying to get better.
I suppose that this is just a phase, a passing glance of something that may or may not be. I have no ideas, I just have the constant of moving forward.
My Dad wants to talk to me from inside the slammer. I don’t want to talk to him just yet.
He contacted my poor mother having read that most recent NY Times article about Asperger’s Syndrome. Therein lies the problem. He’s focusing on the negative, something I’m not necessarily trying to hide, but something I deal with on a regular basis, and choose to accept.
I have overcome my so-called “disability” due to willpower, though I still have a tremendous amount of trouble with it sometimes. I will always be first to admit that, but this is a-typical behavior for him. He always used to use my “illness” as an excuse for everything, telling everyone I met that I had it beforehand. He crippled me before I could even show people who I truly was, before they had an understanding of the man in the iron mask.
Point is, there is still unfinished business between he and I, but I am not thinking about it. I’m just trying to comprehend my existence, my talents and abilities, and my mental stature.
That’s all I want to do.
Grinding the Gears
I am sick, and I’m tired, and I’m pissed, and it’s the holidays. This is all relatively normal.
I suppose that I have a lot of reasons for feeling why I do, as well as just plain bad luck and circumstance. Everyone tells me I don’t give myself enough credit, and I really don’t. Why? Well, it’s because I don’t feel like I’ve fixed enough yet.
Sure, I’m well on my way to working things out to a stable level and feeling reasonably satisfied, but I also don’t feel complete. Shit, I’ll probably never feel that way, but I need to at least feel like I’ve done enough, and in my mind, I haven’t.
This probably sounds like the same bullshit I usually say. “I’m gonna live better”, “I’m gonna go do this”, “I’m gonna just be me”…
Thing is, I’m insecure beyond a shadow of a doubt. No matter what I do, I’m never going to feel entirely comfortable with it. It sucks, but it’s part of what makes me who I am. By recognizing my failures, I work towards making them stronger, but it takes time, lots of time.
I’ve only JUST started really moving on from all the insanity that the last decade dropped upon me. I could spout off a few key things and it still wouldn’t be enough. People say, “everyone goes through shit.” Well, you didn’t go through the shit I did, I guarantee it. You didn’t move 24 fuckin’ times in less than 10 years, get evicted before you were even 20, have your credit score ruined because of poor economic choices by the time you were 21, have your father ask you to take out a LOAN for $20k when you’re 19 years old, not once but TWICE, and be treated like a marionette to a puppet master for years, wondering if it will ever end…
This is not even 10% of it mind you. You think you have problems? I’m sure you do, but I always have 99 more. I’m not saying that makes me any better or worse, but it certainly paints a clearer picture of my personality. It takes time to heal the kind of damage I have. I am scarred, and I have emotional baggage that I hide in order to not place the burden on others. I work with a Therapist every week trying to navigate the strange, dark places that reside within my shattered mind.
No, I’m not proud of myself, even if I have reason to be. I’m pissed, I’m broken, and I’m sad.
You really think you know me? You don’t. I don’t even know myself.
Stop looking at me funny!
Oh hectic, strange beast of life. How you torment, how you love, and how you show us things we must see…
This week was a fucking madhouse of crazy bullshit, but I made it through. The last 2 days I spent sleeping in until 2 o’clock in the afternoon, which was totally deserved, and totally fucking worth it.
My tweets, status updates, etc. were erratic beyond all measure. I tend to become a bi-polar cartoon character when I’m having trouble handling shit. I go through a lot of it, I’ve GOTTEN through a lot of it, so I guess the occasional stress isn’t so bad. It was pissing me off more than anything.
Anger. Now that’s a subject I’m familiar with. I was REALLY pissed this week, I mean Ghost Chili steamed. My Mom was the catalyst, but she wasn’t the main cause. It really began after I saw how fucked up my car really was. I was letting it go, but she just said something that set me off, and for the next 3 days, I was a powder keg. I had to apologize to my therapist because my aggression was so obvious.
I think that lately, it’s because I’ve been feeling like the world has handed me what I wanted, but with a bag of shit on top of it, and I have to dig through the shit to get to the thing I want. But on top of that, when I find the thing I want, I realize it’s Fool’s Gold! A fabrication! So I dug through all that shit for nothing. It’s fuckin’ aggravating.
I can’t complain too much since I now have a little over 4 weeks to recoup before the next semester. I hate the holidays usually, but considering I’m not really going to have any holiday bullshit this year, I can’t complain. My finals went reasonably well too. I don’t expect I got my finest grades yet, but I tried very hard to accomplish my goals, and got lucky a few times.
Pushing myself to the limit seems to be a normal thing for me, and something I should learn to forget. I found myself in a lot of tight spots that I busted out of, but with more damage than I had anticipated, yet I still cannot let my guard down. It’s tough for me because I’ve been through so much, and yet still no one really knows. I don’t really want them to though because all they have to do is ask and after 5 minutes, they don’t want to hear the rest.
I’m a weird guy, but I’m really genuine, and that’s what sets me apart. If people only saw that, maybe I wouldn’t feel so shitty about myself sometimes. If they just told me they liked me for who I was, not try to change me as so often the case. People can’t handle me, but I think it goes both ways.
I thought I would share these thoughts with you on this solemn, lonely eve. Rest easy, internet.
Some things change, others don’t
Today is the day where everyone seems to love each other, where roses, hearts, love, chocolate, sex, and happiness all seem to fit. This has never been MY fit.
Valentine’s Day is more of a corporate thing in my humble opinion, despite having history ranging back to the Middle Ages and before, but it’s also not an easy holiday for me to deal with.
I’ve never had a Valentine, not only that, I’ve never even been in a relationship, or even been kissed.
Before you think about how pathetic that is, let me tell you that it’s understandable considering my current position, as well as my previous positions I’ve been in for the last few years.
Last year, I got drunk. The year before that, I was looking for a job, and dealing with personal, family related issues. This year, I needed to go to SMCC to pay money to get transcripts, but ended up at the Santa Monica Pier instead, playing Rambo in the arcade. In years prior, I was in school, and was also significantly overweight, had zits, wore glasses… I just wasn’t attractive. Not only that, I was in my own head, and dealing with issues at home, many of which I have talked about before.
Valentine’s Day has always been a void in which I felt alone, sad, truly in my own head. I have no one to share my love with, and I haven’t, even after all of the changes I have made to both my mentality, my appearance, confidence, and understanding. I always wanted someone to be by my side, not just for sex, or love, but to share and experience things… To not be alone. Companionship is big for me. Being around me 24/7 isn’t what I mean, what I mean is that I like it when I get to spend time with someone I LIKE spending time with that’s of the opposite sex. It’s hard being in my head all the time, and most of all, by myself.
I’m a strong man, but I admit my weaknesses, and I accept them, but this is something that I have had to accept that I don’t want to accept. It’s something that bares down on my soul like a ton of bricks, or cement shoes keeping me from swimming up for air.
I’ve had many loves. Few of them truly ever know/knew how I felt about them, even if they didn’t feel the same way, but no one I liked would ever give me what I desired if only because they were saving it for someone or something else. I’ve never asked for 100%, I don’t even think that’s possible having witnessed people cheat and lie and do anything to get what they want. A relationship should always be 50/50, not 25/75, or, God forbid, 0/100. That’s why most people end up getting divorced, because they can’t give up that part of themselves for the other person.
It’s fine to have goals. Why not? Everyone does. The problem is when the goals get in the way of what you want, or people get in the way either intentionally, or unintentionally. That’s where the problem arises. I don’t want to tie someone down, and I don’t want someone to be tied down to me, at least, not at the moment. I’m lucky enough to still be young and virile, even if I don’t feel like that on the inside, which may be my blessing in disguise in some ways.
All I want is some satisfaction, but I can’t get any, at least not yet, and I don’t know why. All I have right now is hope for a better love life in the future, but today, it seems very dim. This is where I’m at.
I hope this gets to you
LEBOWSKI: It’s funny. I can look back on a life of achievement, on challenges met, competitors bested, obstacles overcome. I’ve accomplished more than most men, and without the use of my legs. What… What makes a man, Mr. Lebowski?
DUDE: I don’t know, sir.
LEBOWSKI: Is it… is it, being prepared to do the right thing? Whatever the price? Isn’t that what makes a man?
DUDE: Sure. That and a pair of testicles.
- From The Big Lebowski
Last year, 2010, was by far the hardest year of my short existence. A lot happened in a short period of time, I divulged into madness and chaos, I suffered, I smoked weed and drank to try and mask my problems, I grew my hair out so I look like a crazy person, I met good people, I dropped bad people, but the worst person I know went to jail. That person is my father.
My father, despite his best efforts, is not a man that I can easily talk about. He gave into himself instead of doing the right thing. He became the very thing he didn’t want to be; a toxic, lying, overweight, unhappy man. Most of the last quarter of 2010 was suffering over him leaving because he manipulated me so bad, that I believed that I had no value. It will take a long time to heal the damage he left in his wake.
I am not expecting anyone to understand where I am coming from, nor try to. But see my words, and understand that I will not give up hope for my future. My friend Jen Friel (http://talknerdytomelover.com) wrote earlier that we have the ability to change ourselves, and our lives if we make the effort to do so. I am ready, in this new year, this new decade, to stop beating myself up over the past, and move forward with my present, and the future.
Yesterday, I was hungover, but my mom suggested that the best way to try and get over my depression and suffering was to write to my dad. I said in the past that I had not wanted to talk to the man at all, but she said that telling him how I feel would make me feel better, and I should say whatever I feel. Well, I wrote it, and I feel so much better having did.
So I present this letter to you, in hopes that you will better understand how I feel, and why I feel so much anger and grief towards my own father. It is brutal and shocking, but it is how I feel, and all of it is the truth. You’re wondering why I would do this? I’m not afraid anymore. I feel better knowing that thousands, if not millions of people could read this because people need to know that no matter what you are going through, no matter how severe your situation, no matter what happens: You are not alone.
It’s taken me a long time to write this because I didn’t think I had anything to say to you, but I do. I have more words for you than I have for most people, and I am going to make you suffer as I have suffered through your constant, fake, tormenting bullshit.
You were a good father once. You were a positive influence in my life at some times. But that has long past. The last 7 years of my life have been nothing but pain and suffering because of you. You brought this upon yourself, but you also brought this upon the people you should have cared about the most. You used to be a good man, but that has long past. I’m going to tell you how I feel, and you’re going to take it.
Do you know your own self-value? I don’t know mine. Why? Because you never instilled it in me that I HAD any value whatsoever. You were too wrapped up in your business and food to even give a fuck. I couldn’t have a 10 minute conversation with you without you picking up the phone for business. It was like your child, but I was not apparently. I’m sad that I even came out of your sorry excuse for testicles. A real man takes care of his children, and puts them first before anything, even if he doesn’t always agree with the things they say or do. You did not. You kicked me to the curb and put more focus on Charlotte. She has suffered as I have, but in a different way. It didn’t matter what I said or did, but you interrupted me when I was telling you something. You fell ASLEEP on me one time when I was talking to you. A true father listens, you did not.
Your constant impulsive decisions caused us to be in the place we are now; almost homeless, living off my mother’s parents, barely struggling to get by. I had a hard time even telling you I loved you at some points, but I realize now that it’s because I don’t. You used to be a good man, but now you will suffer the consequences of your actions.
Your mother is a bitch, and I don’t want to have anything to do with your family. You obviously are too scared to say what you have to say to her. You let her control you, and you never let your suffering go. You should have shed her, because she’s a stuck up cunt, but you didn’t. You turned those feelings in on yourself and let it eat you. You should have realized that you had value, that you were worth something. You did not.
I know how good of a person I can be. I’ve saved people from suicide, death, I even saved you. I wish I hadn’t sometimes. You would have made an excellent vegetable. I admit my mistakes, I tell people how I feel, and if I don’t agree, I respect their opinion instead of tell them that they’re wrong. You? You always told me I didn’t know what I was talking about, and you never let me figure things out on my own either. You always had to do everything for me instead of letting me live my life. Your promises of wealth, glory, and happiness were all lies, a visage of what YOU wanted. Instead, you brought pain and suffering to those who counted on you. You never did the right thing, and you never listened.
You’ve made me suffer, you’ve made Mom suffer, you’ve made Charlotte suffer. You lied to us, your own wife and children! Family is about respect and love, but you shouldn’t have even had me at all. You don’t deserve me. I can do good with my life instead of the evil you did with yours. You are suffering the consequences, and you deserve it.
I don’t love you. I think that you’re the biggest piece of shit that ever walked the planet. You let your ego and greed get in the way of what mattered most. You played us. You treated us like your pets instead of people. I am a man. I am a human, I am NOT a monster. YOU are the monster for doing what you did. I associate you with evil. You might not have killed anyone, but you killed me emotionally and mentally. You caused lasting psychological damage to me, and it will NEVER go away. You never let me speak, and have my own opinions. You would never admit that I was right about anything, even if I knew EXACTLY what I was talking about. You never knew jack shit about anything because all you cared about was Food and Business. You chose your partners and associates impulsively instead of weighing your options because you were so desperate. You thought you could fix things, but you only made them worse through your actions.
I hold so much anger to you. I think you’re a cocksucker, and you deserve your punishment. You avoided the truth, and now you’re paying for it with 7 years of your life. I hope you rot.
You are where you should be, gone, out of my life. I want you to stay there. I haven’t read any of your letters because I don’t want your excuses and bullshit. I know you’re just trying to reconnect with me, but I don’t want any part of it. I don’t want you in my life, I don’t want you in Mom’s life, and I don’t want you in Charlotte’s. You don’t deserve us. All we ever did was love you, and you treated us like your servants you fat fuck. You gained more weight, and you never gave a shit about your health, which is paramount. You made Mom suffer having to have sex with some fat, lazy slob. She doesn’t love you anymore. I know she doesn’t. I don’t love you at all.
So old man, this is my vengeance, my words. Not a sword or a fist, though I would punch you so hard your neck would snap if I had the chance. You’re not worth my time, and you’re not worth the effort. You made your choice. You chose yourself. I didn’t have a choice, but now I do, and I’m telling you that you will no longer put up with you. I will not be manipulated by a sociopath, nor will I accept that you are my father. You are just another stranger, waiting to die.
I don’t want you near me, I don’t want you to meet my future girlfriend and/or wife, I don’t want you to see your future grandchildren. As far as I’m concerned, you never existed. I’m choosing my life over suffering for the actions of yours. When I get famous, I’m telling people in interviews that you are not in my life, and that you deserve your punishment: not having a relationship with your own flesh and blood. I’m not choosing my ego, I’m choosing my life.
Don’t call me, don’t email me, don’t write me, don’t text me, don’t Facebook me, and stay away. If I see you, or hear from you again, I will get a restraining order against you. I used to be your son, but now, I’m not, and I refuse to be.
My brutality and anger towards you is endless, but I don’t have to put up with you anymore. I’m shedding you like a snake sheds its skin. You don’t deserve me.
Fuck you. I hope this makes you suffer.
What makes a man? It’s the choices he makes to better himself and others. The choice to accept his life, and move forward, no matter how painful the truth may be.
Thank you all for reading this, and I hope that your new year is brighter than anyone could hope for.
A Very Personal Blog Post
Before I share something personal that I wrote, I want to make it clear that the opinions represented in this article are mine and mine alone, and have no bearing on anyone else. I wrote this as a coping method of dealing with the current issues I am having in my personal life, and this should NOT be taken is anything more than my opinion. The reason why I say this is because it deals with my Dad, and despite what I say about him, he’s really a great person overall, and this should not effect your opinion of him in any way, shape or form. This was written by me, FOR me, not for him, and not for anyone else. I am liable, and I am willing to accept the consequences if and when he sees this. I need to publish this. This is important to me.
Author’s note: This was originally written in my notebook, and I’m keeping it in it’s original form because of the flow it has to it.
I’m writing this in my notebook in order to figure out who I really am. Why? I have no clue, but with the combo of Red Bull, Depression, and everyone in my life, I’m filled to the brim with conflicted feelings, and I don’t know how much more I can take.
I’m a little nutty, but you be too if you had the same situations happen to you for 7 years. I’m tortured by my constant feelings of self-loathing, and my endurance is constantly tested. I’m always trying to prove myself to everyone, just so I can feel some sense of self-worth. I don’t know how good I am at anything because I’ve never really received any compliments that meant something to me.
Let me explain: my father is a control freak, and a workaholic. He was always more concerned about making ends meet for us than actually spending time with us. He’s a genius, but also a corrupt bastard, a fraud, and an overly ambitious individual. I always had the belief that his ambition outweighed his abilities, and I’m pretty sure I’m right. Not only that, his business partners always seem to have a screw loose, and he is too trusting of them.
He is also incredibly impulsive, and doesn’t take time to weigh his options and the potential consequences. It blinds him, and he’s made poor choices because of this. I would have never dared telling him how I felt in the past, as his anger is comparable to a volcanic eruption. Now that I am older however, I see the man for who he is, and I don’t much like it. Our opinions vary, as he is more conservative, and I am more of a liberal, but I have never really felt like he respected me.
I’ve wanted to crucify him in writing for years, and now that I have a real chance to do it, I don’t want to. I feel it’s because it’s out of love, but what it’s really about is whom I am today. You see, he’s ruined my life, made me feel like I’m less than human, controlled everything I’ve done for the last 22 years, and embarrassed me at every turn, and I’ve rebelled. It is through this need to want my life that I have gained a valuable skill: Self-reliance. Because the situations I’ve been put in have been so terrible, and promises have been broken, I’ve had to learn to be independent. Through that independence, I have been able to explore myself, and find out what life was all about.
He put so much emphasis on my Asberger’s growing up that the need to prove I am in control became imperative. He always introduce me as someone with Asberger’s, therefore handicapping me before I even got a chance to open my mouth. This also instilled a feeling, a need to prove myself constantly, to overcome this obstacle he placed in my path. I feel to this day that people still don’t take me seriously because of my so-called “learning disability”.
It’s taken me years to get over most of this torment he unknowingly caused, and the anguish has been unbearable. Now that’s he;s going to be gone for a while, I have time to keep searching for my path. I’m currently unemployed, live with a roommate, and I’m just struggling to survive. Hopefully things will change rapidly, but who knows what will happen.
So here we are, at the present. I realize that my Dad is just an incredibly misguided man, and that he was only trying to do his best with what he had. At times, it was good. He was great when I was a child, but bitterness set in as I got older. He was around physically, but not emotionally.
Though I cannot forgive most of the mistakes he has made, I do have to thank him. Because of those mistake, and the constant struggle I’ve had, it’s made me stronger than I ever thought possible. It’s made me who I am today, and I’m definitely happy about that.
What I want him to know is that I love him, and the journey he is making will be tough, but also a necessary one. Personal growth is key, and it is the best advice to give. Never stop looking for who you are.
I know I won’t.