Christmas 2010
Seasons Greetings!
When I first sat to finally write this recap of our year, I found myself stumped as to what to say. All my notes taken during the year to remind me what to include before me, the previous years letters in the their book open beside me, and I had not a clue what to say. Shocking I know! Me, who always has plenty to say or opinions to share, silent. My fingers would sit on the keyboard, unmoving. My mind racing over the past year, and yet nothing would come. And so, I took a walk. I do this often to clear my head (doesn’t work), to regroup my thoughts (and those just wandered). I walked down by the lake, my boots kicking the slushy snow, my mind spinning. And then I heard some kids laughing. Looking around, I saw 4 kids in the park, sliding and laughing as they played in the barely covering the ground snow. They attempted to make snow balls out of the meager bit of fresh powder that had fallen, and amazing enough they ended up with what was nothing more than pebbles, but they had a blast flinging them at each other. As I stood there in my heavy coat and scarf, hiding in the shadows of the giant tree watching the kids play (kinda creepy sounding huh?), I got it. My inspiration. Our Christmas letter.
The past few months I have been beating myself up mentally over the things I have not accomplished this year. I had planned on a big vacation for my kids and I that didn’t happen. I’m not able to provide the boys with their own cars this winter when they turn 16. I didn’t pay off the debt that I want so badly to make disappear. My new furniture I was counting on getting this fall to improve the looks of our home did not become a reality. As I listened to those kids enjoying something as simple as fresh snow, and the glee they have in playing freely, I realized that I was forgetting to appreciate what I had done this year. I was able to take the kids to the beach several times this past year for long weekends, and for Fathers Day weekend the kids surprised me with a already booked hotel room at the coast for a short family getaway. On those weekends we shopped, played, and laughed a lot, and enjoyed being together. I was able to purchase a more reliable family car as the old one was getting more unreliabler (is that word even? If Sarah Palin gets to make one up, then I should get to also I think). Several movies, shopping excursions, and sports events were attended due to a car that could get us all there safely. We were able to eat out more than we should and the bills still got paid on time. We sat on the functional couch many nights together watching movies. We had great times this year as a family, and in looking back, we did a lot, together. Our family unit grew stronger as we spent time in not only cars and hotel rooms, but also several nights a week at the dinner table, where conversation tends to lean towards crude humor, but everyone is free to speak their mind and say what they want. And of course, laugh often. In those moments together, we are all nothing but playing and laughing kids.
The year has been full of exciting (at least to us) things for everyone. July marked my 15th year of managing the store. I never would have guessed all those years ago that when I accepted the position I was embarking on what has turned out to be my life’s career. Cameron and I celebrated our one year anniversary together in September, and I am happy to say that he and I are looking forward to many more milestones together to come our way. I submitted my first novel for publishing, and though it was promptly rejected (upon which the zip drive it was saved on was smashed to bits in a fit of low self esteem moment), at least I can say I finally tried to follow my dream and get something out there for the masses to read. For those interested, my blog is available for free online at: troywaiss.blogspot.com if you want to see unpublished material that my mind and fingers churn out. Disgusting self promotion I know. I have no shame.
Ashley and Brandon continue to live in their log cabin way out in the wilderness. Well…theres trees all around them and I have to drive 15 miles to see them so it’s close enough to the wild. She is building up her clientele at the hair salon each cut, perm, color and wax one at a time. If your in town and need to improve your looks, call her! (See, I will shamelessly promote everyone!) With all she has done this year, perhaps her biggest thrill is showing off her new pink rifle she got this fall. It doesn’t really match her Coach bag, but she loves it the same! She has a big year ahead of her as she turns 21 this coming summer, with many of life’s opportunities and excitement continuing to come her way. A few of the highlights of my year are those nights when she joined us at the table for family dinner or game night. But as she makes that final transformation from child to adult, No matter what, she’ll always be seen as my loud, silly, typical blond little girl.
Kaylee is enjoying her Juinor year and beginning to look ahead to life after high school. College brochures have begun showing up in our mailbox daily, and her teachers have begun pushing the “after high school plan” with each conference or mailing sent home. She just marked her first year of working at the store…ahhh I remember those days. She recently sold her first car and bought a cute Honda Accord, though she has yet to master the stick shift and so HER car sits until she is comfortable. Or until the spare car gives up. Hurry Kaylee! She has continued her love affair with the mall, though when she has to find it herself, it’s a given I will get a teary phone call where the first words are “I’m lost…“ When asked what she wanted included in the letter this year, she just smiled and simply said “Michael”. As Michael is 17, just under 6 foot, and attached to Kaylee at every possible moment, it would be impossible to literally include him. This past year though Michael has become a loved and near constant fixture in our family unit and we are happy Kaylee has found someone who treats her so well and adores her. Michael is whipped.
Justin is this close to the 6 foot mark, though by the time this letter is received chances are he’ll have ate his way past it. He played on the Juinor Varsity soccer team last spring, skied, surfed, and inner tubed on the river this summer, was a proud member of the high school football team for the first time this fall, and is now in the third week of playing Juinor Varsity basketball. He is building a massive entertainment center in his woodworking class, and constructing master pieces in his art design classes that his instructor raves about. This fall he was involved in most Homecoming week events either constructing sets, choregraphing lip syncs, and participating in every event he could. To keep from getting bored, he was just hired at a area ski resort for winter weekends where he will be a parking attendant. Justin will be taking drivers Ed late this winter in between sports seasons. I am looking forward to him driving himself to his various practices and events. He also eats a lot.
Jacob completed drivers ed at the end of summer, and will be a licensed driver this winter if all goes as planned. He discovered the school weight room as a perfect refuge and place to enjoy when not playing soccer, football, or most recently basketball. If a hotel we stayed at had a fitness center, once he made sure the TV had the correct inappropriate shows on it, he’d head down for a work out. He too will be working at the ski resort this winter as a ski check clerk. I’m not sure what that means but I hear check and so I am happy. He’s more excited for the season snowboard pass that’s included in his benefit package. He has a dresser under construction in his woodworking class that is almost as tall as he is and has cost roughly more than his birth did. Like his brother, he had braces put on this fall. He’s hoping when we fly next, they set off the detector, thus causing a pat down and grope courtesy the new TSA rules. Jacob has the distinction of being the kid that has made his father turn red or speechless the most due to twisted comments that come from him. Well done buddy.
This next year, of course I have hopes and dreams for what we can do, see or accomplish. Rather than list them though, I will just be happy with knowing that whatever happens, we’ll be playing and laughing together. We will slip and fall, and get up again. We’ll throw snow pebbles. As a family we will enjoy the fresh and the new, and we’ll be glad for what have. And if someone should be watching from the shadows, well, we hope you can find it within yourselves to join in. Please, come laugh and play with us.
Happy Holidays~
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
The attic room
To dream. Some believe a dream is our minds way of clearing itself, a "reset" if you will. Some think dreams are spirits communicating with us, or our subconscious trying to get through to our awake mind. Dreams could be our minds way of planting seeds in us, to grow into ideas, thoughts, or plans for daily living, or a future we have not yet discovered. Many New Agers think dreams are simply our current being reliving a previous entity we once were. I dont know what dreams are, or their true intention or purpose. Whatever they are, we all have them. Good ones and bad ones alike, we all dream.
I have always been intrigued by the dreams I have, and many times by the ones other people have too. I have books on dream interepation, articles clipped on various dream topics. Its not unusual for me to google dream topics in the middle of the night if I've had one that was particulary eventful or bothersome. My dreams are often vivid and very real, both the good dreams, and the horrible scary ones. I've gotten fairly good i think at figuring out my dreams and what I call my "sleep movies". I think dreams are a combination of it all- spirits, subconsious, reset, seed planting. At least, mine are.
The night my grandfather passed after a long illness, I dreamed of his graveside service. In my dream, my grandmother, who had been gone for many years, stepped out from behind a storage building in the cemetary and told me it was okay, that grandpa was good again. A week later, at the real graveside service, I was stunned to see a building near the grave, not the same building as I dreamed, but very close. I had only been to the cemetary once before, when I was a small child, and had no memory of it all! One of the nights when I was in the midst of my breakdown and in the hospital, I dreamed of all four of my biological grandparents in a group, walking along a stream with me, talking and listening to me. What they said to me in my sleep remains a conversation between the five of us, but once I awoke, my mind was in a better place, and I was able to go home. Spirits communicating? Yes.
I can sometimes wake myself from a particulary bad dream or unpleasant sleep movie, as I seem to dream often not fully asleep, thus aware of myself and can tell my sleeping mind to wake up and escape. Usually. There are times I am powerless to awaken, and have to follow the path my slumbering mind is on. One of the first nights I stayed with Cameron, early in our relationship, I was unable to awaken in time to save him from the guy swinging an ax into his back. I woke him up yelling and jumping on his fully relaxed and sleeping form, in order to save him. I took the ax, he had a heart attack from my middle of the night act of bravery. Often the scariest dreams are the ones I can't control myself in as well.
For many years, I've had a recurring sleep movie start with a house. The same house every time. I walk in the front door, and depending on the type of dream I am to have, I go to a different part of the house. When I ascend the staircase to the attic, I know I'm in for a terrifying dream. These times, I am aware I am asleep, I know I'm about to have a horrible dream, yet I am powerless to walk back down the stairs and avoid what my mind has to say. A few years ago, For many many months, once in the attic I would find myself facing a blank wall. Upon getting closer, I find the wall is actually one of four. I am facing a room within the attic, completley closed off, with a corridor running on four sides of the room. I walk around and around the room, trying to find an entrance. This room with no way in first was built in the months my marriage and family was falling apart. I remember many of these dreams perfectly still. The first few times,I just walked around and around this mystery room, this box if you will. It scared me, but I didnt know why. I'd awaken scared, with no reason. Then, the room's function came into play. I'd find myself walking up the attic stairs, and I'd hear my kids calling for help, crying. I'd hear my spouse sobbing. I would race up the remaining stairs into the attic, to discover the sounds were coming from inside the room. Over and over I'd run the corridors around the room, frantically trying to break in as my family was screaming for me to help them. Their shrieks of pain and terror were unbearable. I would hear their voices yelling my name, or screaming "Daddy help!" Many times my spouse would scream "why did you put us in here? Let us out" The screams and cries would be blood curdling, and full of horror and pain. In my nightmare, I'd bloody my hands beating on the walls trying to save them, I run around the room until I collapsed, still hearing their screams. Then I'd awaken. I'd find myself crying, my hands sore from hitting the bed, my legs tangled in the sheets and blankets so badly I couldnt move them. These dreams were horrid ones. These were my subconcious mind dealing with the hurt my family was going through, and my lack of power to help or save them from the pain. And the pain we were going through was my doing, thus my self suffering dream was my pittance. I would beat myself up each day for my wrong doings, and my mind beat me up at night.
As my life settled and became good again, the trapped room dream frequency would decrease, to finally end just over a year ago. I still would dream of the house, and once in a while the attic, but the entranceless room was gone. Until a few weeks ago. I knew as soon as I started up those steps I'd find the room again. This first time I woke myself up to avoid the room and the terror it held in store for me. The next night however, I was powerless. I got to the room and heard the screams, the pain, the agony. Again, like those nights over a year ago, I race around the room. I've had this dream every single night now for 34 days. I wake up exhausted and scared, I dread going to sleep. I try to avoid it. Not because I think the dream is real, but because I cant figure it out and I dont like to be scared. The dream stays with during the day, my conscious mind trying desparatly to figure it out so I can maybe quit having it. Because This time its different. The walls are different. before the walls were solid, but this tim I can see a shadow in the room. I can see the person's silloute in the room, pacing me, running along with me as I race the corridors. The shadow beats on the walls at me, screaming, pleading, crying. A few nights ago, parts of the corridors floor I am running on began dropping away. I now have to jump over black holes that have appeared in the floor. I am frantic to find a way into the room to let the shadow person out, yet I cant watch the walls as I sprint as I have to watch the floor so I dont fall. Terrifying. Listening to the screams is horrible. I cant figure this dream out. Why is the shadow screaming? Why is the floor disappearing? Why cant I get in the room? Whats causing this pain?
And the worst part- as I race outside in the endless corridor, desparate to save the room's screaming and terrified tenant, the very worst part, is that I am the person inside the room this time.
I have always been intrigued by the dreams I have, and many times by the ones other people have too. I have books on dream interepation, articles clipped on various dream topics. Its not unusual for me to google dream topics in the middle of the night if I've had one that was particulary eventful or bothersome. My dreams are often vivid and very real, both the good dreams, and the horrible scary ones. I've gotten fairly good i think at figuring out my dreams and what I call my "sleep movies". I think dreams are a combination of it all- spirits, subconsious, reset, seed planting. At least, mine are.
The night my grandfather passed after a long illness, I dreamed of his graveside service. In my dream, my grandmother, who had been gone for many years, stepped out from behind a storage building in the cemetary and told me it was okay, that grandpa was good again. A week later, at the real graveside service, I was stunned to see a building near the grave, not the same building as I dreamed, but very close. I had only been to the cemetary once before, when I was a small child, and had no memory of it all! One of the nights when I was in the midst of my breakdown and in the hospital, I dreamed of all four of my biological grandparents in a group, walking along a stream with me, talking and listening to me. What they said to me in my sleep remains a conversation between the five of us, but once I awoke, my mind was in a better place, and I was able to go home. Spirits communicating? Yes.
I can sometimes wake myself from a particulary bad dream or unpleasant sleep movie, as I seem to dream often not fully asleep, thus aware of myself and can tell my sleeping mind to wake up and escape. Usually. There are times I am powerless to awaken, and have to follow the path my slumbering mind is on. One of the first nights I stayed with Cameron, early in our relationship, I was unable to awaken in time to save him from the guy swinging an ax into his back. I woke him up yelling and jumping on his fully relaxed and sleeping form, in order to save him. I took the ax, he had a heart attack from my middle of the night act of bravery. Often the scariest dreams are the ones I can't control myself in as well.
For many years, I've had a recurring sleep movie start with a house. The same house every time. I walk in the front door, and depending on the type of dream I am to have, I go to a different part of the house. When I ascend the staircase to the attic, I know I'm in for a terrifying dream. These times, I am aware I am asleep, I know I'm about to have a horrible dream, yet I am powerless to walk back down the stairs and avoid what my mind has to say. A few years ago, For many many months, once in the attic I would find myself facing a blank wall. Upon getting closer, I find the wall is actually one of four. I am facing a room within the attic, completley closed off, with a corridor running on four sides of the room. I walk around and around the room, trying to find an entrance. This room with no way in first was built in the months my marriage and family was falling apart. I remember many of these dreams perfectly still. The first few times,I just walked around and around this mystery room, this box if you will. It scared me, but I didnt know why. I'd awaken scared, with no reason. Then, the room's function came into play. I'd find myself walking up the attic stairs, and I'd hear my kids calling for help, crying. I'd hear my spouse sobbing. I would race up the remaining stairs into the attic, to discover the sounds were coming from inside the room. Over and over I'd run the corridors around the room, frantically trying to break in as my family was screaming for me to help them. Their shrieks of pain and terror were unbearable. I would hear their voices yelling my name, or screaming "Daddy help!" Many times my spouse would scream "why did you put us in here? Let us out" The screams and cries would be blood curdling, and full of horror and pain. In my nightmare, I'd bloody my hands beating on the walls trying to save them, I run around the room until I collapsed, still hearing their screams. Then I'd awaken. I'd find myself crying, my hands sore from hitting the bed, my legs tangled in the sheets and blankets so badly I couldnt move them. These dreams were horrid ones. These were my subconcious mind dealing with the hurt my family was going through, and my lack of power to help or save them from the pain. And the pain we were going through was my doing, thus my self suffering dream was my pittance. I would beat myself up each day for my wrong doings, and my mind beat me up at night.
As my life settled and became good again, the trapped room dream frequency would decrease, to finally end just over a year ago. I still would dream of the house, and once in a while the attic, but the entranceless room was gone. Until a few weeks ago. I knew as soon as I started up those steps I'd find the room again. This first time I woke myself up to avoid the room and the terror it held in store for me. The next night however, I was powerless. I got to the room and heard the screams, the pain, the agony. Again, like those nights over a year ago, I race around the room. I've had this dream every single night now for 34 days. I wake up exhausted and scared, I dread going to sleep. I try to avoid it. Not because I think the dream is real, but because I cant figure it out and I dont like to be scared. The dream stays with during the day, my conscious mind trying desparatly to figure it out so I can maybe quit having it. Because This time its different. The walls are different. before the walls were solid, but this tim I can see a shadow in the room. I can see the person's silloute in the room, pacing me, running along with me as I race the corridors. The shadow beats on the walls at me, screaming, pleading, crying. A few nights ago, parts of the corridors floor I am running on began dropping away. I now have to jump over black holes that have appeared in the floor. I am frantic to find a way into the room to let the shadow person out, yet I cant watch the walls as I sprint as I have to watch the floor so I dont fall. Terrifying. Listening to the screams is horrible. I cant figure this dream out. Why is the shadow screaming? Why is the floor disappearing? Why cant I get in the room? Whats causing this pain?
And the worst part- as I race outside in the endless corridor, desparate to save the room's screaming and terrified tenant, the very worst part, is that I am the person inside the room this time.
Monday, August 9, 2010
August 10. A new day.
A mess of pills and medications lay on the ground next to the car, wet, swimming in stomach bile and spit and tears. Most were still whole and intact, just a few were barely dissolved. There must have been 150 pills in that mess. Hundreds more lay in the seat next to me. I leaned over the lethal soup, sobbing. Spit hung from my lips as endless tears fell from my eyes onto the ground. I sat there alone, leaning out my car door for a while, retching and crying and hurting.
1:03pm. August 10, 2006. The day I failed at killing myself.
The day had started like most other days. I got up and got ready for work. Things had been very rocky at home with my spouse the past several months due to decisions made and actions I had taken that greatly hurt her. We had been living as roommates in different areas of our house, each of us waiting for something to get better, for things to be fixed magically. All the while, her resentment and disappointment in me grew, and my anger and frustration growing at not being to fix this obstacle that had grown between us. On this day, fed up with my pleading and lies and me in general, my wife devasted me with the words I had never wanted to hear- "I think I want a divorce".
With those six words, my entire world was gone. I knew things were not good, and I think I knew at some level this would happen. But to hear the words coming from the person I loved most in this world, the person I had choosen to spend my life with and raise a family with, the person I promised to put first always, this ruined me. As a child who grew up in less than ideal circumstances and situations, a stable and secure family was the most important thing I ever wanted. I had vowed each of my kids on their birth night to provide them the life I did'nt get growing up, that their mother and I would not fail them. I had promised their mother that I would be there for her always, that we would go on this adult adventure together. I had promised myself I would be a good dad and husband, and have a strong family. In those 6 words, all my promises and vows were gone. I had failed, and I could blame nobody but myself. My heart was broken, my very being was shattered.
I went into work, with those words running through my head. I couldnt concentrate. I spent alot of time in the employee restroom crying uncontrollably. I couldnt function even somewhat normally. My heart was racing, my head pounding. I almost could feel myself shutting down inside, I truly felt I was dieing. And then, I decided thats what I needed to do.
I remember the thought clearly, just as I did when it hit me. A dead parent was better than a divorced parent. My mind was convinced this was best. I had failed my family, I had failed myself, there was no way I could recover from this, and I didnt want to face them or myself anymore. I told my boss what I had been told that morning, and that I just needed to go home for the day. And I left.
I went to my dream house that we had bought and remodeled and loved for our family. I wrote a letter to my wife with my final wishes. I gathered up every medication in the house that I could find and put all the bottles and boxes into a mesh tote bag, along with 2 bottles of water. I fed the cats, got in my car, and drove away.
I remember driving with no destination in mind, just thinking I had to find a place to die that I would be found easily, and not by a child. I drove and drove, tears running down my face, snot falling into my lap as my mind justified what I was about to do, and at the same time, my mind was distancing itself from those I loved. My family became just people. My friends were just faces. I was thinking they all would be better off without me, the failure, in their lives. I finally found a place to park my car, a place I had spent time as a child and was happy. I would be found within hours I was certain, thus releiving my family of the pain of not knowing what had REALLY happened to me.
I sat in the drivers seat of the car and opened all the medications, and made a pile of them in the seat next to me. I put the vicodan I had left over from oral surgery on top as I thought they should hit my stomach first, and the quantity should definatly pave the way for the other medication to poison me quickly. The water bottle open, I began swallowing pills as fast as I could.
The entire time I was shoveling pills into my mouth, I thought of my kids. People say as they die their life flashes in front of them. Mine didnt. Pictures of my kids did. I was doing the best thing for them I could. Sure, they would be sad at first, but their sadness at losing me would pass once I was not around to see everyday. Their pain at having to see me daily if I was still around would be worse. They could have been in that car with me that day fighting me and I still would have found a way to swallow those medications. I was determined to be done hurting.
Swallowing mouthfull after mouthful of pills, crying, seeing my kids, hearing those 6words. Even now, 4 years later, I can still find myself back in that horrible place within myself.
And then I tried to take too many pills in one shot and gagged. That final batch of pills hit the floorboards. I opened the car door as I retched again, and I began losing the medicinal lunch I had just consumed. Over and over again my stomach clenched as I lost its contents. I have no idea how idea how many times I hurled pills and stomach bile onto the ground next my car before I stopped. My throat was raw, I was shaking, my stomach hurt, my eyes were finally dry. And I was still alive. I immediatly grabbed more pills and popped them into my mouth, but I gagged as soon as I took a drink of water and spit them out. My throat was so sore and swollen from the initial swallow and purge I could not physically take anymore in. I sat in my car, alone, and hit the steering wheel over and over again. Yelling and crying and cursing. It was 1:03pm, and I couldnt even die right. I had failed at killing myself.
I drove away from that mess on the ground in the happy place of my childhood, and spent the rest of the day driving around, trying to figure out what to do. I still was set on not living this agony anymore. I fully intended on being dead. A few hours later, I found a place I could drive my car off the road, insuring my death. But this place I was not sure I would be found. That was not acceptable. I parked my car in a park, and once again attempted to swallow pills. Still, my body would not accept them and I once again choked as soon as they got to my throat.
At this same time, unknown to me, I was being looked for by friends and police officers. I found out later that my car description was all over the radio, and dozens of people were on the roads looking for it, and me. Determined to see this through, I parked my car at a school, and for the third time, tried to take pills. This time I took one at a time, and in this way I was able to swallow them. I knew this time it would work, and I remember feeling relieved my pain would be gone soon. On the fourth pill, a knock on my window stopped me. In that dark parking lot, alone with my water bottle and pills and horribly sad and confused mind, I was found. And I was wasn't dead.
The sad mind I'm convinced is not reachable. I dont use the word depressed, because I wasnt. That came later. I was simply sad, and unfixable. I was a broken shell, unrepairable. My living as a failure would prolong my childrens anguish, my wife's unhappiness, my own misery. If I was gone, everybody would heal and move on, rather than just cope and exist. And I would not have to face myself any longer. Yes, I was sad, and yet, I was still alive. But I discovered in the weeks that followed what I now call my breakdown and also my wake up, I found a new way of thinking. Though I was still living the same rocky circumstances in my home, divorce had not been mentioned again. Things were not good, but back to status quo. In this, I realized I was not dead for a reason. My kids DID need me. My friends were there for me, they DID need me too. I was still a failure and ruined the best thing in my life, but I had the opportunity to rebuild and start over. I found a suicide survivors support group and spoke a few times with those family members and friends that were left devasted behind after their loved ones took thier own life. I did what I could to reassure them that it was not in their control, they could not have stopped it. The truly sad mind is more determined than anyone realizes, especially if it has not been experienced first hand. The mindset is not right, and definatly not logical. This I see with the benefit of hindsight and alot of counseling and self exploring. Those people I talked to all had one thing in common, they were hurt and angry at thier loved one. I told them to let the anger go, it does no good to hold onto it, and the person who took their life, TRULY thought at the time it was the best thing to do. I likened it to a person set on going to college and becoming a teacher. NOTHING will stop them if thats truly what they want to do, and in their mind, they are supposed to do it. Nothing else matters or counts. Four years later, I am no longer sad and sucicidal, but I still understand my thoughts and mindset at the time, and I can completley sympathsize with those in the sad frame of mind. I dont blame them at all, nor do I condemn them for taking the actions they may take. In the sad mind, removing yourself from the picture is the best option.
As for me now, things are good. 4 years, therapy, new chances, and lots of self reflection have been good. Yes, every single day I still recognize the fact I failed my family and myself, this will never change. But I'm glad for the chance to do what I can to make amends and make this better. And in this process, I am trying to better myself.
1:03 pm. August 10, 2006. The day I beat death.
1:03pm. August 10, 2006. The day I failed at killing myself.
The day had started like most other days. I got up and got ready for work. Things had been very rocky at home with my spouse the past several months due to decisions made and actions I had taken that greatly hurt her. We had been living as roommates in different areas of our house, each of us waiting for something to get better, for things to be fixed magically. All the while, her resentment and disappointment in me grew, and my anger and frustration growing at not being to fix this obstacle that had grown between us. On this day, fed up with my pleading and lies and me in general, my wife devasted me with the words I had never wanted to hear- "I think I want a divorce".
With those six words, my entire world was gone. I knew things were not good, and I think I knew at some level this would happen. But to hear the words coming from the person I loved most in this world, the person I had choosen to spend my life with and raise a family with, the person I promised to put first always, this ruined me. As a child who grew up in less than ideal circumstances and situations, a stable and secure family was the most important thing I ever wanted. I had vowed each of my kids on their birth night to provide them the life I did'nt get growing up, that their mother and I would not fail them. I had promised their mother that I would be there for her always, that we would go on this adult adventure together. I had promised myself I would be a good dad and husband, and have a strong family. In those 6 words, all my promises and vows were gone. I had failed, and I could blame nobody but myself. My heart was broken, my very being was shattered.
I went into work, with those words running through my head. I couldnt concentrate. I spent alot of time in the employee restroom crying uncontrollably. I couldnt function even somewhat normally. My heart was racing, my head pounding. I almost could feel myself shutting down inside, I truly felt I was dieing. And then, I decided thats what I needed to do.
I remember the thought clearly, just as I did when it hit me. A dead parent was better than a divorced parent. My mind was convinced this was best. I had failed my family, I had failed myself, there was no way I could recover from this, and I didnt want to face them or myself anymore. I told my boss what I had been told that morning, and that I just needed to go home for the day. And I left.
I went to my dream house that we had bought and remodeled and loved for our family. I wrote a letter to my wife with my final wishes. I gathered up every medication in the house that I could find and put all the bottles and boxes into a mesh tote bag, along with 2 bottles of water. I fed the cats, got in my car, and drove away.
I remember driving with no destination in mind, just thinking I had to find a place to die that I would be found easily, and not by a child. I drove and drove, tears running down my face, snot falling into my lap as my mind justified what I was about to do, and at the same time, my mind was distancing itself from those I loved. My family became just people. My friends were just faces. I was thinking they all would be better off without me, the failure, in their lives. I finally found a place to park my car, a place I had spent time as a child and was happy. I would be found within hours I was certain, thus releiving my family of the pain of not knowing what had REALLY happened to me.
I sat in the drivers seat of the car and opened all the medications, and made a pile of them in the seat next to me. I put the vicodan I had left over from oral surgery on top as I thought they should hit my stomach first, and the quantity should definatly pave the way for the other medication to poison me quickly. The water bottle open, I began swallowing pills as fast as I could.
The entire time I was shoveling pills into my mouth, I thought of my kids. People say as they die their life flashes in front of them. Mine didnt. Pictures of my kids did. I was doing the best thing for them I could. Sure, they would be sad at first, but their sadness at losing me would pass once I was not around to see everyday. Their pain at having to see me daily if I was still around would be worse. They could have been in that car with me that day fighting me and I still would have found a way to swallow those medications. I was determined to be done hurting.
Swallowing mouthfull after mouthful of pills, crying, seeing my kids, hearing those 6words. Even now, 4 years later, I can still find myself back in that horrible place within myself.
And then I tried to take too many pills in one shot and gagged. That final batch of pills hit the floorboards. I opened the car door as I retched again, and I began losing the medicinal lunch I had just consumed. Over and over again my stomach clenched as I lost its contents. I have no idea how idea how many times I hurled pills and stomach bile onto the ground next my car before I stopped. My throat was raw, I was shaking, my stomach hurt, my eyes were finally dry. And I was still alive. I immediatly grabbed more pills and popped them into my mouth, but I gagged as soon as I took a drink of water and spit them out. My throat was so sore and swollen from the initial swallow and purge I could not physically take anymore in. I sat in my car, alone, and hit the steering wheel over and over again. Yelling and crying and cursing. It was 1:03pm, and I couldnt even die right. I had failed at killing myself.
I drove away from that mess on the ground in the happy place of my childhood, and spent the rest of the day driving around, trying to figure out what to do. I still was set on not living this agony anymore. I fully intended on being dead. A few hours later, I found a place I could drive my car off the road, insuring my death. But this place I was not sure I would be found. That was not acceptable. I parked my car in a park, and once again attempted to swallow pills. Still, my body would not accept them and I once again choked as soon as they got to my throat.
At this same time, unknown to me, I was being looked for by friends and police officers. I found out later that my car description was all over the radio, and dozens of people were on the roads looking for it, and me. Determined to see this through, I parked my car at a school, and for the third time, tried to take pills. This time I took one at a time, and in this way I was able to swallow them. I knew this time it would work, and I remember feeling relieved my pain would be gone soon. On the fourth pill, a knock on my window stopped me. In that dark parking lot, alone with my water bottle and pills and horribly sad and confused mind, I was found. And I was wasn't dead.
The sad mind I'm convinced is not reachable. I dont use the word depressed, because I wasnt. That came later. I was simply sad, and unfixable. I was a broken shell, unrepairable. My living as a failure would prolong my childrens anguish, my wife's unhappiness, my own misery. If I was gone, everybody would heal and move on, rather than just cope and exist. And I would not have to face myself any longer. Yes, I was sad, and yet, I was still alive. But I discovered in the weeks that followed what I now call my breakdown and also my wake up, I found a new way of thinking. Though I was still living the same rocky circumstances in my home, divorce had not been mentioned again. Things were not good, but back to status quo. In this, I realized I was not dead for a reason. My kids DID need me. My friends were there for me, they DID need me too. I was still a failure and ruined the best thing in my life, but I had the opportunity to rebuild and start over. I found a suicide survivors support group and spoke a few times with those family members and friends that were left devasted behind after their loved ones took thier own life. I did what I could to reassure them that it was not in their control, they could not have stopped it. The truly sad mind is more determined than anyone realizes, especially if it has not been experienced first hand. The mindset is not right, and definatly not logical. This I see with the benefit of hindsight and alot of counseling and self exploring. Those people I talked to all had one thing in common, they were hurt and angry at thier loved one. I told them to let the anger go, it does no good to hold onto it, and the person who took their life, TRULY thought at the time it was the best thing to do. I likened it to a person set on going to college and becoming a teacher. NOTHING will stop them if thats truly what they want to do, and in their mind, they are supposed to do it. Nothing else matters or counts. Four years later, I am no longer sad and sucicidal, but I still understand my thoughts and mindset at the time, and I can completley sympathsize with those in the sad frame of mind. I dont blame them at all, nor do I condemn them for taking the actions they may take. In the sad mind, removing yourself from the picture is the best option.
As for me now, things are good. 4 years, therapy, new chances, and lots of self reflection have been good. Yes, every single day I still recognize the fact I failed my family and myself, this will never change. But I'm glad for the chance to do what I can to make amends and make this better. And in this process, I am trying to better myself.
1:03 pm. August 10, 2006. The day I beat death.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Hug 'em
This week is my cousins birthday. His mother has been doing things leading up to his big day that he likes to do. She has been going to places they used to go when he was a teen, and she has taken out of a drawer things she saved from when he was younger, things that remind her of her son. Things that make her feel close to him again. And on his special day, she will remember the day she gave birth to her little boy. And on this day, she will visit his grave, and she will wish he were here to receive his birthday hug.
This cousin I did not know as well as I could have. He was more than a decade younger than me, family dynamics were not condusive to us being close,though we lived less than 10 miles apart most of our lives. I knew him well enough to talk to when we ran into each other, and he we'd wave if we passed each other on the road. But we were not close. That does not mean his passing a few years ago did not strike me hard, and that I didnt care about him. It does mean however I am reminded once again to realize and actually see the people in my life.
Tonights blog is not an Eulogy. It's not a ploy to get sympathy or to make people sad. Tonight it's about appreciating those in our lives, people we may see everyday and may not always like, but they are there nonetheless. Our parents, grandparents, kids, friends, co-workers...you just never know when they won't be around.
Events the past few years have shown me over and over how fast things can change. One day a close friend can be laughing and joking over dinner, the next day calling to say they have a terminal illness. A grandparents address is scratched off the Christmas card list, a co-worker may be transferred. Things change, and people leave. And we are left behind to caryy on without them.
Losing people in our lives is not easy, its not fun, and its not fair. But it happens, and will continue to happen, to all of us. Those that we are lucky enough to have in our email contact list, our inner circle, our beds, we need to realize just how fortunate we are. It's a good feeling to know that every Thanksgiving, my children will be sitting at my dining room table with me for dinner. I like knowing that if I awake in the middle of the night from one of my frequent nightmares, I have someone laying next to me to calm me. When I go to work, I am paid by people who care, and I'm glad I can call up my best friend of 14 years anytime and know he'll make me laugh. We all have people like this in our daily lives. And at the same time, we all ARE those same people in others daily lives. Look at those around you, see those friends that have put you in their lives. Listen to your kids stories, no matter how lame or trivial they may seem, as the topic is important to them. Let your friends make fun of your inadequacies,and laugh along with them as you point out theirs. We get one round at this life adventure we are on, so scream along with the other riders. And appreciate those in your life. Most of all Love your kids and let them know. Hug them with a "see you later", never a "good bye".
This week is my cousins birthday. His mother will visit his grave. I think he'll feel her hug anyway.
This cousin I did not know as well as I could have. He was more than a decade younger than me, family dynamics were not condusive to us being close,though we lived less than 10 miles apart most of our lives. I knew him well enough to talk to when we ran into each other, and he we'd wave if we passed each other on the road. But we were not close. That does not mean his passing a few years ago did not strike me hard, and that I didnt care about him. It does mean however I am reminded once again to realize and actually see the people in my life.
Tonights blog is not an Eulogy. It's not a ploy to get sympathy or to make people sad. Tonight it's about appreciating those in our lives, people we may see everyday and may not always like, but they are there nonetheless. Our parents, grandparents, kids, friends, co-workers...you just never know when they won't be around.
Events the past few years have shown me over and over how fast things can change. One day a close friend can be laughing and joking over dinner, the next day calling to say they have a terminal illness. A grandparents address is scratched off the Christmas card list, a co-worker may be transferred. Things change, and people leave. And we are left behind to caryy on without them.
Losing people in our lives is not easy, its not fun, and its not fair. But it happens, and will continue to happen, to all of us. Those that we are lucky enough to have in our email contact list, our inner circle, our beds, we need to realize just how fortunate we are. It's a good feeling to know that every Thanksgiving, my children will be sitting at my dining room table with me for dinner. I like knowing that if I awake in the middle of the night from one of my frequent nightmares, I have someone laying next to me to calm me. When I go to work, I am paid by people who care, and I'm glad I can call up my best friend of 14 years anytime and know he'll make me laugh. We all have people like this in our daily lives. And at the same time, we all ARE those same people in others daily lives. Look at those around you, see those friends that have put you in their lives. Listen to your kids stories, no matter how lame or trivial they may seem, as the topic is important to them. Let your friends make fun of your inadequacies,and laugh along with them as you point out theirs. We get one round at this life adventure we are on, so scream along with the other riders. And appreciate those in your life. Most of all Love your kids and let them know. Hug them with a "see you later", never a "good bye".
This week is my cousins birthday. His mother will visit his grave. I think he'll feel her hug anyway.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
The raising of Troy
Fathers Day. The day of the year designated to honor and recognize fathers, grandfathers, father figures, whoever the "Dads" in each family are. My fathers will get their cards and token gifts of course. And I, assume will receive mine. But in looking towards this day, I've decided to take a different approach to recognizing this day that is supposed to be mine. I realize now, that rather than the day being about ME, its about what makes me who I am, what I am, and why I am. Fathers Day would not be, were it not for my kids.
This entry will not be an essay on how wonderful, beautiful, handsome, perfect my four children are. This will not a story about how my kids should be looked at as the mini gods they are, or the awesome people they are turning out to be. This blog today will be about how four little beings shaped and gave meaning to one person, how they raised and nutured and unconditionally love the person I am today- Dad.
At 19 I took on parenthood. Ashley came into my life and from then on, I was no longer Troy, I was Daddy. At 19 I was not totally aware of the responsibility of having a child. I knew of course that she needed fed, she couldnt bathe herself, all of her needs and wants had to be given to her by her mother and I. I was in charge of this little girl, failure was not an option. In addition to food and soap though, Ashley needed hugs and tickles. She needed someone to read her bedtime stories, someone to throw her into the air and safely catch her; Ashley had to know that when she fell, her Dad would be there. As parenthood grew on me though, I realized that it was actually Ashley doing the catching. When down, her giggles picked me up. When angry or frustrated, her cuddles would soothe me. This little girl was a giant antidepressant. With tiny shoes that matched her hair ribbons.
At 21, Kaylee's continueing education of Daddy began. Two little lives now depended on me. But I was not done growing up yet. I still laughed at people haveing gas, I still got a thrill when I ordered an alcohol drink in a restaurant, I drove a small two seater car way to fast. At the end of everyday though, I'd come home to my girls, and no matter what job I was working in at the time, my role then became Daddy. As Kaylee grew bigger, and Ashley grew older, I began to change. I had always been focused on myself and my wife. We NEEDED new furniture, a good trip each year, a date night on a regular basis. But then I began to see my girls needed things more. They needed cute clothes, Disneys latest VHS release, the Barbie playsets. I was able to give them these things. They also needed their Dad to play Barbie with them, play dress up and for me to let them do my hair, and someone to cover their eyes when "the Beast roared protecting Beauty". This was my role. I was growing up, performing a grown up role, growing into The Dad.
Justin and Jacob overwhelmed at 23. Four kids under 5. Toys, diapers, laundry, bottles, little money. It seemed helpless and overwhelming. Things were not easy. But as things got harder in some ways, others became easier. Dirty diapers no longer made me cringe as this was a chance to massage my little guys legs and feet, in the hopes that one day they'd be athletic and graceful. Bathtime was difficult, but no longer a dreaded chore. Baths lead to good splashing, laughing, and if we were lucky, self made "bubbles". Birthday parties in the yard, long walks with strollers and big wheel bikes, laughing at simple jokes and silly faces at the dinner table. These four people captured a part of me I didnt know I had. They became my meaning and my life. Almost every decision that was made, was made with them in mind. My needs and wants became secondary. I am Dad first, all else is secondary.
I didnt realize until my kids got older what they had done to me. How they shaped me. I had many plans and goals for myself when I was younger, yet those fell by the wayside to become plans and goals for my children. Their happiness and livlihood became my lifes mission. They are my reason. As my kids outgrew their cute outfits, I grew also. We grew up together. I learned to enjoy sports through endless hours of sitting in bleachers, chairs, and grass screaming for their accomplishments on the court, field, or track. I rode a bus 32 times to and from Portland in 7 years on various field trips, not to mention dozens of trips to the pool for "swim Dad" chaperone. I developed patience as they learned to ride a bike without training wheels, though when I let go of the seat, I felt a part of me was riding away with those little legs pumping the pedals. Turning the wheel and gas pedal of my car to a teen learning to drive forced me to take the passenger seat. I had to encourage, yet sternly guide, as we crept way to fast along the roads. Building swingsets, dollhouses, lego robots, racetracks took time on Christmas morning, but being able to push the kids on the slides, play dolls in the house, have wars with robots and wreck cars made the time worthwhile. There is no question that those little beings who I whispered promises to the first night they slept in my arms did a hell of a job fulfilling their end of the deal- to let me be their Dad.
I have never looked at the honor they have given me as a job, or a duty, or an obligation. I'm their Dad. Its my role. Its my identity. Its me.
Thank you Ashley, Kaylee, Justin and Jacob. This life you've given me is one I truly appreciate and feel privledged to have. You guys are my world, and really are the best thing I have ever done or acomplished. No matter how this life ride goes, I can't possibly top the Dad part.
And so guys, with all my heart, Happy Fathers Day.
This entry will not be an essay on how wonderful, beautiful, handsome, perfect my four children are. This will not a story about how my kids should be looked at as the mini gods they are, or the awesome people they are turning out to be. This blog today will be about how four little beings shaped and gave meaning to one person, how they raised and nutured and unconditionally love the person I am today- Dad.
At 19 I took on parenthood. Ashley came into my life and from then on, I was no longer Troy, I was Daddy. At 19 I was not totally aware of the responsibility of having a child. I knew of course that she needed fed, she couldnt bathe herself, all of her needs and wants had to be given to her by her mother and I. I was in charge of this little girl, failure was not an option. In addition to food and soap though, Ashley needed hugs and tickles. She needed someone to read her bedtime stories, someone to throw her into the air and safely catch her; Ashley had to know that when she fell, her Dad would be there. As parenthood grew on me though, I realized that it was actually Ashley doing the catching. When down, her giggles picked me up. When angry or frustrated, her cuddles would soothe me. This little girl was a giant antidepressant. With tiny shoes that matched her hair ribbons.
At 21, Kaylee's continueing education of Daddy began. Two little lives now depended on me. But I was not done growing up yet. I still laughed at people haveing gas, I still got a thrill when I ordered an alcohol drink in a restaurant, I drove a small two seater car way to fast. At the end of everyday though, I'd come home to my girls, and no matter what job I was working in at the time, my role then became Daddy. As Kaylee grew bigger, and Ashley grew older, I began to change. I had always been focused on myself and my wife. We NEEDED new furniture, a good trip each year, a date night on a regular basis. But then I began to see my girls needed things more. They needed cute clothes, Disneys latest VHS release, the Barbie playsets. I was able to give them these things. They also needed their Dad to play Barbie with them, play dress up and for me to let them do my hair, and someone to cover their eyes when "the Beast roared protecting Beauty". This was my role. I was growing up, performing a grown up role, growing into The Dad.
Justin and Jacob overwhelmed at 23. Four kids under 5. Toys, diapers, laundry, bottles, little money. It seemed helpless and overwhelming. Things were not easy. But as things got harder in some ways, others became easier. Dirty diapers no longer made me cringe as this was a chance to massage my little guys legs and feet, in the hopes that one day they'd be athletic and graceful. Bathtime was difficult, but no longer a dreaded chore. Baths lead to good splashing, laughing, and if we were lucky, self made "bubbles". Birthday parties in the yard, long walks with strollers and big wheel bikes, laughing at simple jokes and silly faces at the dinner table. These four people captured a part of me I didnt know I had. They became my meaning and my life. Almost every decision that was made, was made with them in mind. My needs and wants became secondary. I am Dad first, all else is secondary.
I didnt realize until my kids got older what they had done to me. How they shaped me. I had many plans and goals for myself when I was younger, yet those fell by the wayside to become plans and goals for my children. Their happiness and livlihood became my lifes mission. They are my reason. As my kids outgrew their cute outfits, I grew also. We grew up together. I learned to enjoy sports through endless hours of sitting in bleachers, chairs, and grass screaming for their accomplishments on the court, field, or track. I rode a bus 32 times to and from Portland in 7 years on various field trips, not to mention dozens of trips to the pool for "swim Dad" chaperone. I developed patience as they learned to ride a bike without training wheels, though when I let go of the seat, I felt a part of me was riding away with those little legs pumping the pedals. Turning the wheel and gas pedal of my car to a teen learning to drive forced me to take the passenger seat. I had to encourage, yet sternly guide, as we crept way to fast along the roads. Building swingsets, dollhouses, lego robots, racetracks took time on Christmas morning, but being able to push the kids on the slides, play dolls in the house, have wars with robots and wreck cars made the time worthwhile. There is no question that those little beings who I whispered promises to the first night they slept in my arms did a hell of a job fulfilling their end of the deal- to let me be their Dad.
I have never looked at the honor they have given me as a job, or a duty, or an obligation. I'm their Dad. Its my role. Its my identity. Its me.
Thank you Ashley, Kaylee, Justin and Jacob. This life you've given me is one I truly appreciate and feel privledged to have. You guys are my world, and really are the best thing I have ever done or acomplished. No matter how this life ride goes, I can't possibly top the Dad part.
And so guys, with all my heart, Happy Fathers Day.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Monster Laughs
It has been argued that the adults we become are shaped by the children we were. The life we live as grown ups is a result of our childhood. Too many kids have horribly abusive childhoods, and grow up to repeat the pattern. Many of those kids though turn their lives around, vowing to have a good life as an adult,and succeding what anyone would have imagined. On the flip side, many kids that have wonderful, priveledged childhoods grow up to ruin their adult lives. Our adult lives are shaped by the children we were, yes. This, along with events, our own choices and decisions made in the growing process, shape our adult lives.
As a kid, I lived a fairly normal life, at times. I lived in a small town, rode my bike to the school, played on our property with my brothers and cousins. I was not hungry, abused, or neglected. I had star wars bedsheets, race cars on my bedroom walls, and a go cart. I also had a father who lived 150 miles away, a step father who basically abandoned his family for a new life, and a mother who tried to make the best choices she was able to, for the most part. One of the choices she made, I feel was the most influential on forming the man and father that I have become.
I first met "Mark" when he came over for dinner one night. I did not know he was coming. I walked into the kitchen, and sitting in one of our dining chairs, long legs stretched out, was Mark. My mother introduced us. He seemed like a nice guy. I was a shy kid, I remember sitting at dinner with my brothers, mother, and Mark, not sure what to say or do. My step father had recently left for good. My mother had been so sad, and seemed so happy to have this guy at our table. He had just got off work from his job at a mill, and still smelled of grease. He had on the black and white striped heavy shirt most men in our town owned, as most were mill workers or loggers. His black hair was curly and I remember thinking I'd never seen such curly hair on a guy. I dont know what we talked about at dinner, but I remember afterwards he sat on our backporch with my mother, and watched as my brother and I attempted to climb our cherry tree in the yard. We showed him our playhouse, our barn, our fort we had made in one of our fields. Mark never left. Or so it seemed. One night he was there for dinner, and then he was there all the time, living in our house that the only father I remember living with had recently run away from.
Mark was great about fixing my bike chain, as it always seemed to pop off. He kept our go cart running through the fields. He let me stay up and watch scary movies. And my mother was not sad anymore. She was happy in the evening again. The stress that had lined her face was gone. Mark drove us to California, and took great delight at seeing my wonder at the Redwood trees. Life was good.
I dont remember when I noticed the changes starting. I remember certain events. Our cat we'd had forever had kittens in our barn. Mark was angry about more animals being around (we had a large dog and 2 cats). The kittens were about 2 weeks old when they began disappearing. there were 5, then 4. I asked what happened to the missing kitten. My mother said she didnt know, perhaps another cat had got in the barn and took it? I will never forget the look on Marks face when when he said to me "sometimes mothers cant save their kids". He said this with no emotion, no expression, just let it hang there in the musty barn as he walked out. Within the week, all the kittens but one were gone. I found the final kitten on a Sunday morning, his head had been crushed.
Mark began to get angry often, and for what I thought was no reason. One afternoon I left my bike in the middle of the garage that was used just for storage. He yelled and screamed that I couldnt take care of anything, that I was lazy. My bike was moved to a high shelf, I was not strong enough to get it down until he felt I deserved it back. I'd hear him yelling late at night at my mother in their room. He'd call her horrible names, and accuse her of things I did not understand. I knew the slaps I heard were him hurting her, but I pretended that I didnt hear anything. The next days though, I'd see my mom looking scared, or sad. Mark would act as if everything was fine. He'd tell me stories of when he was cop and people he'd hurt. He'd always end these terrible tales with something to the effect of "cops look out for each other, I'll never go to jail". As time went on, I beleived this more and more.
Mark was the father figure in our house for a short while. Then he was gone from our daily lives. He'd come by on occasion, the weekends, some evenings. Those times my mother acted afraid. He'd talk with her in her room, or in the yard. I'd watch as she'd tell him to leave, plead with him to go. He'd leave, but his truck would drive up and down our road over and over. One time my aunt came to get me out of class, and drove me to my mother who was waiting at the store. We drove to another town and stayed at womans shelter for several nights, as threats against my mothers life had been made.
To support her fatherless family, My mother began working a second job on the weekends at a local restaurant and lounge. She would be gone many nights until early in the morning, leaving a babysitter in charge. I remember laying in my bed late at night, the holly bush scratching at the house, my window open. Mark would be outside my window, whispering, "your mom is not comng home for a while. I'm going to burn your house down with you inside". Then he'd laugh. His deep, smokers laugh, sending chills throughout my body. Sometimes he'd call when she was at work to say "your mom is dead." Then hang up, chuckling as I'd start crying. He'd come to the door and let me know that my mom had been hurt, she was in the hospital, then laugh and walk away.
I'd come home from school to find an animal that had been run over in our yard. One particularly bad weekend my aunt brought me home to get some toys as my mother had hid us at her house for a weekend while she herself was in a safe house. There were two dead cats hanging on our front porch,and a small dog laying on our back porch. The cherry tree that I climbed in, some kind of animal was hanging from it, my uncle took it down before I could see it.
This terror went on for what seemed like forever, though looking back at the time frame could have been no longer than a year, from introduction to the day we fled my childhood home. School ended for the year, I came home and there was a caravan of pickups and cars in our driveway, loading everything up so we could move to another town, away from the monster that Mark had become. The house that I had rode my bike around the driveways, rode my go cart in the fields, made countless mud pies in the playhouse, had become unsafe for my mothers life. And a place of terror in mine. So, we moved away.
Fear can do many things to a child. My mother could not protect me from the fear of the monster that was very real. This was not a "scary monster in my closet". This was a man, hiding outside my window,laughing as he terrified me with his taunts. Fear can paralyze you. Fear can make you angry. Being laughed at while your being tormented and teased can make you hate. I hate Mark still. The fear he instilled in me still haunts my dreams at times. Some of the the worst nightmares I've had in my life are thanks to Mark, and I'm sure the ones he is not in are somehow influenced by him.
But going back to the beginning, how did this choice my mother make shape the man and father I've become today?
Its hard to say how I would have turned out had it not been for Mark. As a man, I've seen how to never treat a woman, or another person for that matter. Abuse is not okay, no matter who is on the receiving end of it. I know that things will not always be my way, or the rules be those I want, but there are limits to what I will do to get my way. Harm is not one of them. To instill fear in someone, to make someone afraid to not only go to sleep at night but also to dread wakeing up the next day, this is pathetic. I vowed that my kids or spouse would never be afraid of me. To see my daughter or son look at me, afraid of what'd I say or do, I could never handle. To see the person I love cower if I came into the room, unthinkable.
I'm feircely protective of my children. Not only their saftey, but their happiness and ability to enjoy their youth is my lifes focus. All else in my life is secondary to me giving my kids the best life I possibly can. My children deserve this. All kids deserve a childhood where they can be laughing, joyful kids, and not constantly be the coward bullied on the playground. The things I'm afraid of are very real- Sure, I dont like spiders, I hate ladders, and I'm not fond of being on a boat. My biggest fear is harm or illness to my kids. Nothing else can bring me to the verge of hysteria quicker than this thought. I've lived through terror and mind numbing fear. Noises outside in the middle of the night? I've seen what they are. The groaning monster in the closet is nothing compared to a laughing man lurking outside or calling in the middle of the night.
But for all the "good" lessons Mark taught me, theres a few on the other side. Its very hard for me to let others inside. My childhood trust in adults was shattered in a matter of months. People are not who or what they appear. They will turn on or hurt me. I have to remember that I am the only one who can protect me, and so I will, By keeping others out. And so, i have to be on guard. Even now, 26 years after we fled on that June day, I'm still careful about who I turn to and count on to be there. I dont allow myself to form close feelings or a true bond with people. I never know when I'll have to run, or when they will become someone other than who I thought. I have many many good and close friends; yet Sadly, I know that deep down, I dont trust those friendships. I can't. Bonds are meant to be broken. Its just a matter of time.
And finally, Mark taught me that when all else fails, when everyone around me is scared, broken, gone or unable to help, I've got myself. Through everything, I was my own constant. I lay in my bed, star wars sheet pulled over my head, listening to the laughter outside my window, smelling the gasoline Mark told me he was pouring on the wall to light on fire, a dead mother somewhere, sobbing in fear. And I was there by myself, only one around to pull me through. I would stay awake till the monster was gone, till the gas evaporated, till mom came home. If I could be strong enough, I could be safe. Mark and his psycotic laughter not only made me hardened, but a strong person, a viscious father, a man afraid of very few physical things.
And, yet I feel I won. And now it's my turn to laugh.
As a kid, I lived a fairly normal life, at times. I lived in a small town, rode my bike to the school, played on our property with my brothers and cousins. I was not hungry, abused, or neglected. I had star wars bedsheets, race cars on my bedroom walls, and a go cart. I also had a father who lived 150 miles away, a step father who basically abandoned his family for a new life, and a mother who tried to make the best choices she was able to, for the most part. One of the choices she made, I feel was the most influential on forming the man and father that I have become.
I first met "Mark" when he came over for dinner one night. I did not know he was coming. I walked into the kitchen, and sitting in one of our dining chairs, long legs stretched out, was Mark. My mother introduced us. He seemed like a nice guy. I was a shy kid, I remember sitting at dinner with my brothers, mother, and Mark, not sure what to say or do. My step father had recently left for good. My mother had been so sad, and seemed so happy to have this guy at our table. He had just got off work from his job at a mill, and still smelled of grease. He had on the black and white striped heavy shirt most men in our town owned, as most were mill workers or loggers. His black hair was curly and I remember thinking I'd never seen such curly hair on a guy. I dont know what we talked about at dinner, but I remember afterwards he sat on our backporch with my mother, and watched as my brother and I attempted to climb our cherry tree in the yard. We showed him our playhouse, our barn, our fort we had made in one of our fields. Mark never left. Or so it seemed. One night he was there for dinner, and then he was there all the time, living in our house that the only father I remember living with had recently run away from.
Mark was great about fixing my bike chain, as it always seemed to pop off. He kept our go cart running through the fields. He let me stay up and watch scary movies. And my mother was not sad anymore. She was happy in the evening again. The stress that had lined her face was gone. Mark drove us to California, and took great delight at seeing my wonder at the Redwood trees. Life was good.
I dont remember when I noticed the changes starting. I remember certain events. Our cat we'd had forever had kittens in our barn. Mark was angry about more animals being around (we had a large dog and 2 cats). The kittens were about 2 weeks old when they began disappearing. there were 5, then 4. I asked what happened to the missing kitten. My mother said she didnt know, perhaps another cat had got in the barn and took it? I will never forget the look on Marks face when when he said to me "sometimes mothers cant save their kids". He said this with no emotion, no expression, just let it hang there in the musty barn as he walked out. Within the week, all the kittens but one were gone. I found the final kitten on a Sunday morning, his head had been crushed.
Mark began to get angry often, and for what I thought was no reason. One afternoon I left my bike in the middle of the garage that was used just for storage. He yelled and screamed that I couldnt take care of anything, that I was lazy. My bike was moved to a high shelf, I was not strong enough to get it down until he felt I deserved it back. I'd hear him yelling late at night at my mother in their room. He'd call her horrible names, and accuse her of things I did not understand. I knew the slaps I heard were him hurting her, but I pretended that I didnt hear anything. The next days though, I'd see my mom looking scared, or sad. Mark would act as if everything was fine. He'd tell me stories of when he was cop and people he'd hurt. He'd always end these terrible tales with something to the effect of "cops look out for each other, I'll never go to jail". As time went on, I beleived this more and more.
Mark was the father figure in our house for a short while. Then he was gone from our daily lives. He'd come by on occasion, the weekends, some evenings. Those times my mother acted afraid. He'd talk with her in her room, or in the yard. I'd watch as she'd tell him to leave, plead with him to go. He'd leave, but his truck would drive up and down our road over and over. One time my aunt came to get me out of class, and drove me to my mother who was waiting at the store. We drove to another town and stayed at womans shelter for several nights, as threats against my mothers life had been made.
To support her fatherless family, My mother began working a second job on the weekends at a local restaurant and lounge. She would be gone many nights until early in the morning, leaving a babysitter in charge. I remember laying in my bed late at night, the holly bush scratching at the house, my window open. Mark would be outside my window, whispering, "your mom is not comng home for a while. I'm going to burn your house down with you inside". Then he'd laugh. His deep, smokers laugh, sending chills throughout my body. Sometimes he'd call when she was at work to say "your mom is dead." Then hang up, chuckling as I'd start crying. He'd come to the door and let me know that my mom had been hurt, she was in the hospital, then laugh and walk away.
I'd come home from school to find an animal that had been run over in our yard. One particularly bad weekend my aunt brought me home to get some toys as my mother had hid us at her house for a weekend while she herself was in a safe house. There were two dead cats hanging on our front porch,and a small dog laying on our back porch. The cherry tree that I climbed in, some kind of animal was hanging from it, my uncle took it down before I could see it.
This terror went on for what seemed like forever, though looking back at the time frame could have been no longer than a year, from introduction to the day we fled my childhood home. School ended for the year, I came home and there was a caravan of pickups and cars in our driveway, loading everything up so we could move to another town, away from the monster that Mark had become. The house that I had rode my bike around the driveways, rode my go cart in the fields, made countless mud pies in the playhouse, had become unsafe for my mothers life. And a place of terror in mine. So, we moved away.
Fear can do many things to a child. My mother could not protect me from the fear of the monster that was very real. This was not a "scary monster in my closet". This was a man, hiding outside my window,laughing as he terrified me with his taunts. Fear can paralyze you. Fear can make you angry. Being laughed at while your being tormented and teased can make you hate. I hate Mark still. The fear he instilled in me still haunts my dreams at times. Some of the the worst nightmares I've had in my life are thanks to Mark, and I'm sure the ones he is not in are somehow influenced by him.
But going back to the beginning, how did this choice my mother make shape the man and father I've become today?
Its hard to say how I would have turned out had it not been for Mark. As a man, I've seen how to never treat a woman, or another person for that matter. Abuse is not okay, no matter who is on the receiving end of it. I know that things will not always be my way, or the rules be those I want, but there are limits to what I will do to get my way. Harm is not one of them. To instill fear in someone, to make someone afraid to not only go to sleep at night but also to dread wakeing up the next day, this is pathetic. I vowed that my kids or spouse would never be afraid of me. To see my daughter or son look at me, afraid of what'd I say or do, I could never handle. To see the person I love cower if I came into the room, unthinkable.
I'm feircely protective of my children. Not only their saftey, but their happiness and ability to enjoy their youth is my lifes focus. All else in my life is secondary to me giving my kids the best life I possibly can. My children deserve this. All kids deserve a childhood where they can be laughing, joyful kids, and not constantly be the coward bullied on the playground. The things I'm afraid of are very real- Sure, I dont like spiders, I hate ladders, and I'm not fond of being on a boat. My biggest fear is harm or illness to my kids. Nothing else can bring me to the verge of hysteria quicker than this thought. I've lived through terror and mind numbing fear. Noises outside in the middle of the night? I've seen what they are. The groaning monster in the closet is nothing compared to a laughing man lurking outside or calling in the middle of the night.
But for all the "good" lessons Mark taught me, theres a few on the other side. Its very hard for me to let others inside. My childhood trust in adults was shattered in a matter of months. People are not who or what they appear. They will turn on or hurt me. I have to remember that I am the only one who can protect me, and so I will, By keeping others out. And so, i have to be on guard. Even now, 26 years after we fled on that June day, I'm still careful about who I turn to and count on to be there. I dont allow myself to form close feelings or a true bond with people. I never know when I'll have to run, or when they will become someone other than who I thought. I have many many good and close friends; yet Sadly, I know that deep down, I dont trust those friendships. I can't. Bonds are meant to be broken. Its just a matter of time.
And finally, Mark taught me that when all else fails, when everyone around me is scared, broken, gone or unable to help, I've got myself. Through everything, I was my own constant. I lay in my bed, star wars sheet pulled over my head, listening to the laughter outside my window, smelling the gasoline Mark told me he was pouring on the wall to light on fire, a dead mother somewhere, sobbing in fear. And I was there by myself, only one around to pull me through. I would stay awake till the monster was gone, till the gas evaporated, till mom came home. If I could be strong enough, I could be safe. Mark and his psycotic laughter not only made me hardened, but a strong person, a viscious father, a man afraid of very few physical things.
And, yet I feel I won. And now it's my turn to laugh.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
It's only a dollar.
Yesterday evening I was shopping, picking up stuff to make a nice dinner and various items my kids would be needing for a weekend getaway we have planned. As I wandered through the supermarket, I kept finding myself in the same aisle as a lady and her son, who I would guess was about 7. As I put stuff as needed or wanted in my cart, I noticed the lady showing her son how to read the price tags, and I heard her a few times guideing him to the less expensive, generic branded items. I didnt really pay to much attention, though at one time I needed an item where she was standing, so while waiting for her to move on, I observed her explaining to the young boy how to see if the larger size was really cheaper than a smaller size, thus making it a better deal in the long run for them. I got my item, and continued down the aisle. This continued a few rows. I wasnt really paying much attention to them as I was focused on getting my needed ingrediants for an experimental meal I was making, and I was wanting to get out of the store. Then, surrounded by flour and sugar and syrups, I had the moment.
The young boy came running up to his mom, very excited. He had something in his hand, and was waving it at his mother. "Mom! I found a car! It's only a dollar and it's really a neat one!". The eagerness in his face for his mom to see his prize made me smile as I walked past them. I heard his mother say quietly "Food Stamps wont buy toys. I'm sorry." I looked over, pretending to look for a muffin mix as the lady gently took the car from her son, his head now drooping a bit, and she laid the car on a shelf and together they pushed the cart away. She was whispering to him something about getting paid on Friday, they'd come back and see if they could find it then. The boy simply said, "It's only a dollar, you dont even have one dollar?"
I instantly thought of the peice of paper I carry in my wallet, under my drivers license. On it I've written "remember where you were". This is to remind me of a time when I was not so fortunate finacially in my life. My wife and I were newly married, with a 3 year old and a 4 month old. In an 18 month time frame, our family expanded unexpectadly with twins, our oldest daughter had suffered a devasting injury resulting in surgeries and hospital stays with no medical insurance to help. In addition, due to the high risk pregnancy and then the logistics and daycare excepense of having 4 kids under 5, I was the only one able to work outside the home. And my job was paying slightly above minimum wage. To say we were struggling is an understatement. Diapers and formula alone took half of my after taxes pay. Our rent and power bill took almost all the rest. There were several nights we lay in bed talking and crying, trying to figure out a way to get out of the financial nightmare we were in. Good paying jobs were just not available, and it was not economically feasable for my wife to go back to work. We were broke. Our parents were not in positions to help us, nor would we ask them had they been. We were determined to find a way out.
Grocery shopping was an embarassing ordeal. The third of each month, we would load our young family up, diaper bags in tow, and drive our rattletrap car 35 miles to shop at a supermarket not in our town. Food stamps would buy our food for the month. This was when the stamps were printed paper, in booklets. Our grocery bill would be totaled up, and with red faces, we'd quickly rip the stamps out of the books to pay, not looking at those behind us in line, and praying nobody we knew would see us. Each time we'd have to shop this way, one of us would say "something has to change".
Through this rough time, our children didnt miss out on anything. Gifts were always well done, as we would do layaways throughout the year and make payments when we could so we always had toys and clothes for birthdays and Christmas. We shopped sales, and did without many things ourselves so our kids would not have to do without. And food stamps fed us.
With hard work, determination, and alot of embarrassment, we worked ourselves out of the hole. As soon as we could, we dropped food stamps. We bought our own groceries. Things were still tight, but we made it. We continued to thrive and made a good and comfortable life for ourselves and our kids. The shame I felt at not being able to provide for my family, this never left. The paper I carry in my wallet with those words on it? Its a one dollar food stamp. The last one in our last book.
And so last night I heard this mother telling her son "food stamps wont buy toys, I'm sorry" and I knew her shame. I felt her pain. I saw the boys face, and I knew his sadness. He didnt argue, he merely accepted "not right now" I'm sure he's heard it before. And so they continued down the aisle. I stuggled with myself on what to do. Do I butt out? Its not my concern, not my kid. Do I buy the toy and give it to the boy? He's not my kid, not my responsibility. What do I care if he's happy or not? I reached over and grabbed the Matchbox car. I pulled two dollars from my pocket and as I walked by the lady, I handed the car and cash to her and said "I've been there" and kept walking. She called out to me "Payday is Friday, it's okay". As I turned, she was holding the items back at me. I could see the defeat in her face, the life that has her beat down etched in her eyes. "It's okay, I've been there." I said. "Things turn around". And I turned the corner away from the mother and her son, leaving her the cash and toy. The young boy ran up to me and said "thank you. But it's only a dollar. You gave two". I told him to go find a second car then.
Did I do this and tell others so I'd get a pat on the back? No. I did this because I know what its like to not buy my own food, and have to wait until payday to buy a treat. A child should not have to understand their parents have no money for fun things. Nor should a parent have to tell their child to wait over one dollar. Perhaps the mother I encountered will be in a position one day to help another less fortunate parent. Perhaps the boy will grow up and in the back of his mind remember the kindness of a stranger and know that life is not always a no, or a wait.
Food Stamps are not fun. They are humiliating and degrading for those who are forced to use them. True, some people have no problem using them, and some even take pride in the fact they dont have to work and can still eat well. My wife and I? Food stamps not only bought us groceries and formula, they bought us determination.
No, food stamps won't buy toys. But yesterday, they did.
The young boy came running up to his mom, very excited. He had something in his hand, and was waving it at his mother. "Mom! I found a car! It's only a dollar and it's really a neat one!". The eagerness in his face for his mom to see his prize made me smile as I walked past them. I heard his mother say quietly "Food Stamps wont buy toys. I'm sorry." I looked over, pretending to look for a muffin mix as the lady gently took the car from her son, his head now drooping a bit, and she laid the car on a shelf and together they pushed the cart away. She was whispering to him something about getting paid on Friday, they'd come back and see if they could find it then. The boy simply said, "It's only a dollar, you dont even have one dollar?"
I instantly thought of the peice of paper I carry in my wallet, under my drivers license. On it I've written "remember where you were". This is to remind me of a time when I was not so fortunate finacially in my life. My wife and I were newly married, with a 3 year old and a 4 month old. In an 18 month time frame, our family expanded unexpectadly with twins, our oldest daughter had suffered a devasting injury resulting in surgeries and hospital stays with no medical insurance to help. In addition, due to the high risk pregnancy and then the logistics and daycare excepense of having 4 kids under 5, I was the only one able to work outside the home. And my job was paying slightly above minimum wage. To say we were struggling is an understatement. Diapers and formula alone took half of my after taxes pay. Our rent and power bill took almost all the rest. There were several nights we lay in bed talking and crying, trying to figure out a way to get out of the financial nightmare we were in. Good paying jobs were just not available, and it was not economically feasable for my wife to go back to work. We were broke. Our parents were not in positions to help us, nor would we ask them had they been. We were determined to find a way out.
Grocery shopping was an embarassing ordeal. The third of each month, we would load our young family up, diaper bags in tow, and drive our rattletrap car 35 miles to shop at a supermarket not in our town. Food stamps would buy our food for the month. This was when the stamps were printed paper, in booklets. Our grocery bill would be totaled up, and with red faces, we'd quickly rip the stamps out of the books to pay, not looking at those behind us in line, and praying nobody we knew would see us. Each time we'd have to shop this way, one of us would say "something has to change".
Through this rough time, our children didnt miss out on anything. Gifts were always well done, as we would do layaways throughout the year and make payments when we could so we always had toys and clothes for birthdays and Christmas. We shopped sales, and did without many things ourselves so our kids would not have to do without. And food stamps fed us.
With hard work, determination, and alot of embarrassment, we worked ourselves out of the hole. As soon as we could, we dropped food stamps. We bought our own groceries. Things were still tight, but we made it. We continued to thrive and made a good and comfortable life for ourselves and our kids. The shame I felt at not being able to provide for my family, this never left. The paper I carry in my wallet with those words on it? Its a one dollar food stamp. The last one in our last book.
And so last night I heard this mother telling her son "food stamps wont buy toys, I'm sorry" and I knew her shame. I felt her pain. I saw the boys face, and I knew his sadness. He didnt argue, he merely accepted "not right now" I'm sure he's heard it before. And so they continued down the aisle. I stuggled with myself on what to do. Do I butt out? Its not my concern, not my kid. Do I buy the toy and give it to the boy? He's not my kid, not my responsibility. What do I care if he's happy or not? I reached over and grabbed the Matchbox car. I pulled two dollars from my pocket and as I walked by the lady, I handed the car and cash to her and said "I've been there" and kept walking. She called out to me "Payday is Friday, it's okay". As I turned, she was holding the items back at me. I could see the defeat in her face, the life that has her beat down etched in her eyes. "It's okay, I've been there." I said. "Things turn around". And I turned the corner away from the mother and her son, leaving her the cash and toy. The young boy ran up to me and said "thank you. But it's only a dollar. You gave two". I told him to go find a second car then.
Did I do this and tell others so I'd get a pat on the back? No. I did this because I know what its like to not buy my own food, and have to wait until payday to buy a treat. A child should not have to understand their parents have no money for fun things. Nor should a parent have to tell their child to wait over one dollar. Perhaps the mother I encountered will be in a position one day to help another less fortunate parent. Perhaps the boy will grow up and in the back of his mind remember the kindness of a stranger and know that life is not always a no, or a wait.
Food Stamps are not fun. They are humiliating and degrading for those who are forced to use them. True, some people have no problem using them, and some even take pride in the fact they dont have to work and can still eat well. My wife and I? Food stamps not only bought us groceries and formula, they bought us determination.
No, food stamps won't buy toys. But yesterday, they did.
Monday, March 15, 2010
March to March...a retrospective
I was reviewing some notes and journal entries I'd made last March earlier this week. I am always amazed at how things can change in such a short amount of time. Last year at this time, I was just not in a good place within myself. I was newly divorced after 15 years of marriage. For the first time in my life I was living by myself (my kids are with me part of each week). I had never been a "single adult". I could not seem to adjust to this, and I was lost. Most of the nights I did not have my kids with me I spent going out to clubs, lounges, pubs, wherever I could meet people and not be alone. My goal was to avoid an empty house, a broken heart, and to just be wanted by somebody for just a few hours. I was not looking for a relationship, just a temporary companion. The nights it was not feasable to go out, I spent alone in my house, learning to make dinners for one person, obsessivly cleaning a small place that was never dirty, trying to find a "new normal" but avoiding myself in the process. In addition to my own self misery, one of my closest friends and a person I leaned on way to much in the days my marriage was faltering, had been diagonsed with lung cancer and was spending her days in treatment, and nights in pain and sickness. I watched as my healthy and vibrant friend became sickly and tired as the treatment took the energy and light from her body. The fear I felt at the possibility of losing her paralyzed me at times. There were moments when I realized I was not crying over the loss of my life as I had known it, but I was crying at the thought of losing my friend also. And so, I avoided. I went out. I rarely went to the same place twice, and I never used my real name or phone number. I could be whoever or whatever I wanted, as the situation dictated. I never had more than two weak drinks, and usually I'd find somebody who wanted me for the evening and was willing to help me forget my troubles. In this fashion, I was able to pretend to hide from my misery, my loneliness, my fears, and most importantly-myself.
This went on for several months. My health suffered. My attitude towards people in general suffered. My job suffered. My finances, body, and mind suffered. I didnt care. I was lost, afraid, and avoiding this new life I didnt want. But I didnt know what to do. I was caught in a self made trap. The days my kids were not with me were unbearable. I was living the consequences of my actions that destroyed my marriage and the life I so desparately wanted to give my children. I couldnt help my sick friend, only watch and wait. And so I hid.
Now, present time. March 2010. I have a year of hindsight and "what the hell was I thinking?" behind me. I am in a better place within myself. I'm more focused on my job. My kids are receiving the full attention they deserve. I'm working on being a better friend to my old friends, while maintaining new friends I've made. I've fallen in love again, something I never thought would be possible. So what changed? I'm still responsible for the divorce and destruction of several innocent peoples lives. I still come home to an empty house on some evenings. My kids are only with me 2-5 days a week. I'm not on the friendly terms I wish I was with my former spouse. So...whats up? I'm no longer trying to hide is what.
This can mean many different things to many people reading this. I finally realized I had to stop trying to blame everyone, and anyone for my own actions that lead to my lifes changes and alterations. I had to admit to ME that I was responsible for myself, nobody else. I had to grow up. I had to force myself to quit blaming and hiding and open myself up...to myself. Once I finally took this action, I could begin healing. I still went out. I still did things that were not in my best long term interest. But I actually began to enjoy things again. I really laughed with my kids, not just lip synced the laughter. I tasted the meals I began cooking. I didnt just go out to find someone to go home with, I went out on real dates. I listened to what people had to say. I heard the words in the music, not just the beat. Many times my evenings ended with me heading to my house, alone. Another friend made that I would call again, not another nameless lover to be forgotten. I became okay to stay home some nights alone, just watching a movie or sitting on my deck, alone. This was fine.
During the summer I met two people that I toyed with the idea of a possible real relationship. With each of them, we made it the beginning stages of building something, only to not pan out. I was not wanting or was I ready to give myself totally to someone again. I could not let myself hurt someone again. Nor could I be hurt again. But the thoughts were planted. I saw that I could actually possibly care again. I could open again, if the right person came along. And so I continued to work on myself, and enjoy life again. And then the right person came along. Completley unexpected and not what I was looking for, but I guess thats how it happens sometimes. I found myself opening, sharing, caring, and loving again. Not only this new person, but myself in the process. As I've said many times "many walls that were so solidly built and strong have not only been knocked down, but shattered as well". My self imposed prison has been unlocked. The guard was caught unaware. And for that, I'm glad.
So what does all this mean? Where am I going with this? I guess if I had to sum it up, I have to say that in order to not hide from life, you have to let yourself be found. Blame yourself all you want, but accepting the blame is different.
And my friend with cancer? All clear. As I found my new life, she was given the chance to continue with her old one. The tears became not ones of fear, but of hope and promise. For both of us.
This went on for several months. My health suffered. My attitude towards people in general suffered. My job suffered. My finances, body, and mind suffered. I didnt care. I was lost, afraid, and avoiding this new life I didnt want. But I didnt know what to do. I was caught in a self made trap. The days my kids were not with me were unbearable. I was living the consequences of my actions that destroyed my marriage and the life I so desparately wanted to give my children. I couldnt help my sick friend, only watch and wait. And so I hid.
Now, present time. March 2010. I have a year of hindsight and "what the hell was I thinking?" behind me. I am in a better place within myself. I'm more focused on my job. My kids are receiving the full attention they deserve. I'm working on being a better friend to my old friends, while maintaining new friends I've made. I've fallen in love again, something I never thought would be possible. So what changed? I'm still responsible for the divorce and destruction of several innocent peoples lives. I still come home to an empty house on some evenings. My kids are only with me 2-5 days a week. I'm not on the friendly terms I wish I was with my former spouse. So...whats up? I'm no longer trying to hide is what.
This can mean many different things to many people reading this. I finally realized I had to stop trying to blame everyone, and anyone for my own actions that lead to my lifes changes and alterations. I had to admit to ME that I was responsible for myself, nobody else. I had to grow up. I had to force myself to quit blaming and hiding and open myself up...to myself. Once I finally took this action, I could begin healing. I still went out. I still did things that were not in my best long term interest. But I actually began to enjoy things again. I really laughed with my kids, not just lip synced the laughter. I tasted the meals I began cooking. I didnt just go out to find someone to go home with, I went out on real dates. I listened to what people had to say. I heard the words in the music, not just the beat. Many times my evenings ended with me heading to my house, alone. Another friend made that I would call again, not another nameless lover to be forgotten. I became okay to stay home some nights alone, just watching a movie or sitting on my deck, alone. This was fine.
During the summer I met two people that I toyed with the idea of a possible real relationship. With each of them, we made it the beginning stages of building something, only to not pan out. I was not wanting or was I ready to give myself totally to someone again. I could not let myself hurt someone again. Nor could I be hurt again. But the thoughts were planted. I saw that I could actually possibly care again. I could open again, if the right person came along. And so I continued to work on myself, and enjoy life again. And then the right person came along. Completley unexpected and not what I was looking for, but I guess thats how it happens sometimes. I found myself opening, sharing, caring, and loving again. Not only this new person, but myself in the process. As I've said many times "many walls that were so solidly built and strong have not only been knocked down, but shattered as well". My self imposed prison has been unlocked. The guard was caught unaware. And for that, I'm glad.
So what does all this mean? Where am I going with this? I guess if I had to sum it up, I have to say that in order to not hide from life, you have to let yourself be found. Blame yourself all you want, but accepting the blame is different.
And my friend with cancer? All clear. As I found my new life, she was given the chance to continue with her old one. The tears became not ones of fear, but of hope and promise. For both of us.
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