Ive been thinking lately. About life about happiness about how things would have been different if I had taken a right instead of a left at the light on the corner of twenty-eighth and Market six years ago and gone to Staceys house in the Gaslamp Quarter instead of down to Poway to visit David in the hospital. Would I have stayed with her? Would she have been faithful? Would she have not wanted to fuck my cousin as much as she did? Would I have ever been enough for her?
Or how about the day I punched that tall kid in the mouth during my friends garage show in the twelfth grade for accidentally touching my (then) girlfriends ass. Would she have dumped me for being a chauvinistic pig? Would I have subsequently gone to jail for carrying the concealed weapon? Would I have fucked my best friends girlfriend instead of just fingering her in the boys bathroom like I did? Would she have swallowed my semen instead of spitting it out on the floor next to the urinal like she did? Would I have called her a whore like I wish I hadnt?
What if I hadnt gone to Sickboys house for that stupid party? Would I have met the girl with the red hair after all? Would I have left the first woman Ive ever really loved with every fiber of my being for a stupid night of sex and large breasts? Would I have slept with all three of those stupid giggly girls? Would I have still been with her and cherished each day like it was my last? Would I still be happy?
What are these stupid little differences that make up my life. Why do they matter so much? Why do we regret? Why do I regret so much when Ive done so little?
Ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble
I wonder if this is life sometimes. I wonder what it is that I did in past lives to make me so miserable now. I wonder how many different types of drugs I need to ingest before one combination finally levels me out and I feel sane again. You know I havent felt completely myself since I was in the second grade. That was the last time I can honestly remember not having a fog hanging over my each and every move.
Are we ever really meant to be happy? Do we just drive through life with our headlights so bright that we not only blind others but ourselves as well? If I were to just succumb to the voice in the back of my head that has been telling me to just end it already for the past seventeen years will it really matter? What will I have to show for my life when its all said and done? A bag of regrets and a pack of cigarettes that I refuse to smoke
My mother asked me why I was so intent on going to hell yesterday. She said the choices that Ive made and the sins I commit on an everyday basis are going to guarantee a spot for me if I dont change my ways. I told her she was wrong. This is hell. How could it not be? Were so removed form the very people we sleep next to every night that it makes me sick to the core of my soul thinking about how they must secretly despise me for every little sound I make throughout the night while they try to sleep the good sleep. Were so alone in this world that it hurts.
I asked her how she could even be sure there was a god and she slapped me. My stepfather asked me to leave and I cried in my car. Im just not so sure anymore. I was sure when I was a child. I knew there was a god. I knew he was in his heaven and everything was right with the world. But when you see your father shooting up heroin between his two false teeth into his gums to get a quicker high and watch your childhood home being sold because you dont have enough money to pay the mortgage or even bread it makes you second guess if there really is such a thing.
I saw my father try to kill himself a few times. One time I walked into the bathroom when I was ten and he was lying on the floor with a small pool of blood coming out of his wrists. He was high and crying about how sorry he was that he couldnt kick the stuff. He started to shake me and screamed about the small black demons flying around me and how they were trying to make me do bad things to him but that he still loved me even though he was sure my whore of a mother had fucked someone else and I wasnt his child.
I wonder if thats why I cut myself now. I wish I could pinpoint when it was that I started doing it. I never really understood how the correlation between physical pain and self-esteem happened in my mind but it did. Its hard to stop. Ive been trying to for the past few years but it seems that every time I do everything goes to shit and I start looking for the knives again.
I guess Im just scared. I am actually. Im scared to death of this. How am I going to know if Im going to be a good man? What if Im a bad father and screw up my children like my father did? I know shes not pregnant and I dont really have to worry about it yet but I really do. Its the next inevitable step. I dont want my children to have to go through everything I did.
Sometimes, I let her go to sleep before I do so I can cry to myself a little in the living room. The sound of the television muffles it enough so that she doesnt know. It just scares me to think that she looks to me for stability and strength when all I can see when I close my eyes is my father trying to kill himself.
Sometimes I wish my older brother had live instead of me. We both had the same problems when we were younger. We both had severe asthma and chronic hospital stays. He was always loved more than me though. I should have died instead of him. He would have been a better son and a better husband. Anyone would really.
Or how about the day I punched that tall kid in the mouth during my friends garage show in the twelfth grade for accidentally touching my (then) girlfriends ass. Would she have dumped me for being a chauvinistic pig? Would I have subsequently gone to jail for carrying the concealed weapon? Would I have fucked my best friends girlfriend instead of just fingering her in the boys bathroom like I did? Would she have swallowed my semen instead of spitting it out on the floor next to the urinal like she did? Would I have called her a whore like I wish I hadnt?
What if I hadnt gone to Sickboys house for that stupid party? Would I have met the girl with the red hair after all? Would I have left the first woman Ive ever really loved with every fiber of my being for a stupid night of sex and large breasts? Would I have slept with all three of those stupid giggly girls? Would I have still been with her and cherished each day like it was my last? Would I still be happy?
What are these stupid little differences that make up my life. Why do they matter so much? Why do we regret? Why do I regret so much when Ive done so little?
Ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble, ramble
I wonder if this is life sometimes. I wonder what it is that I did in past lives to make me so miserable now. I wonder how many different types of drugs I need to ingest before one combination finally levels me out and I feel sane again. You know I havent felt completely myself since I was in the second grade. That was the last time I can honestly remember not having a fog hanging over my each and every move.
Are we ever really meant to be happy? Do we just drive through life with our headlights so bright that we not only blind others but ourselves as well? If I were to just succumb to the voice in the back of my head that has been telling me to just end it already for the past seventeen years will it really matter? What will I have to show for my life when its all said and done? A bag of regrets and a pack of cigarettes that I refuse to smoke
My mother asked me why I was so intent on going to hell yesterday. She said the choices that Ive made and the sins I commit on an everyday basis are going to guarantee a spot for me if I dont change my ways. I told her she was wrong. This is hell. How could it not be? Were so removed form the very people we sleep next to every night that it makes me sick to the core of my soul thinking about how they must secretly despise me for every little sound I make throughout the night while they try to sleep the good sleep. Were so alone in this world that it hurts.
I asked her how she could even be sure there was a god and she slapped me. My stepfather asked me to leave and I cried in my car. Im just not so sure anymore. I was sure when I was a child. I knew there was a god. I knew he was in his heaven and everything was right with the world. But when you see your father shooting up heroin between his two false teeth into his gums to get a quicker high and watch your childhood home being sold because you dont have enough money to pay the mortgage or even bread it makes you second guess if there really is such a thing.
I saw my father try to kill himself a few times. One time I walked into the bathroom when I was ten and he was lying on the floor with a small pool of blood coming out of his wrists. He was high and crying about how sorry he was that he couldnt kick the stuff. He started to shake me and screamed about the small black demons flying around me and how they were trying to make me do bad things to him but that he still loved me even though he was sure my whore of a mother had fucked someone else and I wasnt his child.
I wonder if thats why I cut myself now. I wish I could pinpoint when it was that I started doing it. I never really understood how the correlation between physical pain and self-esteem happened in my mind but it did. Its hard to stop. Ive been trying to for the past few years but it seems that every time I do everything goes to shit and I start looking for the knives again.
I guess Im just scared. I am actually. Im scared to death of this. How am I going to know if Im going to be a good man? What if Im a bad father and screw up my children like my father did? I know shes not pregnant and I dont really have to worry about it yet but I really do. Its the next inevitable step. I dont want my children to have to go through everything I did.
Sometimes, I let her go to sleep before I do so I can cry to myself a little in the living room. The sound of the television muffles it enough so that she doesnt know. It just scares me to think that she looks to me for stability and strength when all I can see when I close my eyes is my father trying to kill himself.
Sometimes I wish my older brother had live instead of me. We both had the same problems when we were younger. We both had severe asthma and chronic hospital stays. He was always loved more than me though. I should have died instead of him. He would have been a better son and a better husband. Anyone would really.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
I don't think you'll have to worry about screwing up your future kids lives. While the memories you have of growing up are largely unhappy ones, from those memories, you have an idea of what not to do. I think you are more than smart enough to use your past experiences and judgement to how to approach your role as a parent.
You and I have have often discussed how differently you were treated by your parents compared to your brother. That is, unfortunately a parenting pattern that is seen all over the world; the first son has the right to be the biggest fuck up in the world, and can do no wrong, but every child after that, can't seem to do anything right. You grew up with that, you know how shitty it feels and you wouldn't want any child of your own to feel that way right? Well, chalk that up as a lesson learned: love each child equally. Of course, this depends on how many kids you have, but still, you get the idea.
The long and the short of it is, DON"T PANIC! You sir, are a good man. I sure as hell wouldn't have stayed friends with you all these years if I thought you weren't.
Don't feel bad about your regrets, we all have them. I have never believed in the idea of "no regrets". To me, those without regrets, just have really convenient bouts of amnesia. The real key is keeping regret on a leash and not allowing it to devour you.
As far as the cutting goes, I think you should seriously get help for that in some way. I have a feeling seeing a shrink and doing that whole couch bit wouldn't be your thing, but there are other ways. Have you ever considered Art Therapy? My sister is studying it in school and it seems like something you could use to get some of those personal horror stories and regrets out of your system. I'm sure there is some kind of art therapy facility somewhere on your side of the country (you do after all, live in Cali
Keep your head up son. You are a good person. You are not a screw up, you just have more mistakes and bad situations to learn from than most people. There are so many people out there who have had childhoods like yours and they figure "well, that's how I was raised, and I turned out okay!" and they end up continuing the cycles. You, on the other hand, know where your parents went wrong, and you yourself went wrong. As far as being a good husband and father is considered, I'm certain that you are going into those roles with a clearer perspective than many many other people.