Hello Strange World,
Welcome back to another exciting edition of- You know what? Fuck it. I can’t think of much an analogy at the moment. As a matter of fact, I can’t really think of much at the moment. My creativity, and inspiration are somewhat lacking at the moment. As you can tell by the last year of blogs, my life has been quite the shit show. There’s a lot of fucking good, but it has been quite the shit show. I really don’t have many words to describe the last year beyond what I have explained in several posts where I unload my daddy issues on the rest of the world. As a matter of fact, several of my blogs have referenced the same daddy issues. Honestly, I’m sick and tired of ranting about the same fucking thing over, and over again. Yet here I am, talking about dad issues again. Though this blog post won’t be simply about daddy issues, but rather my mood in general.
I seem to be really stuck in this funk that is really difficult to get out of. Thankfully it isn’t the same funk that resulted in me scheming in my head all the possible ways i could kill myself. It isn’t the same funk that made me really afraid to walk around with sharp objects because I started fantasizing slashing my wrists. This funk is a result of the events from last year involving my Dad, plus the body image issues I been battling though. It’s been a long ass year full of much good, and a great internal battle from within. I wanna be able to wake up one day, and not have this shit with my dad affect me so much. I’d love to be able to walk around, and not having to fear running into him, or seeing him in person. I’d like for once to accept the fact that I may never have a relationship with this man. I just wanna be able to kill the childish fantasies dead, put a bullet in all their heads executioner style, and never have to deal with them again. He’s out of my life, he’ll never acknowledge my existence, he’ll find some way to justify his absence in the same way he’s managed to justify years of verbal abuse, psychological torment, and manipulation.
I wake up every morning to the same alarm I programmed in my Amazon Echo. It goes something like this,
*Tells me the weather*
*Does ESPN Sports briefing*
*Does NPR News briefing*
*Plays Destiny’s Child’s “Happy Face*
It stars with the chorus,
“I woke up this morning, the sunshine is shinnin’, I put on my happy face!”
And that’s just about my life for the last several months. Despite how broken I feel on the inside, I’ve gotta put on the happy face. Because very few people want to interact with a sad motherfucker. The last thing I want to be is a Debbie downer. The world doesn’t take too kindly to Debbie Downers. I didn’t take to kindly to Debbie Downers in my college years, so I suppose it is my karma. I get, up go to the mirror, and brush my teeth. The body image issues blindside me. All of a sudden, I’m staring at this really gross guy in the mirror, but that gross guy is me. He’s got a pair of A-cups, a belly that looks it the wrecking ball in the Miley Cyrus videos. Why can’t I love this person as much as others love him? Maybe it has to do with the fact that I hold myself to this unrealistic standard of perfection. Maybe it’s because my own dad held me to these unrealistic standards of perfection. Pleasing him was impossible, and required me to go against everything that made me me. I’ve spent my entire life walking a tightrope over a pool of sharks, all of them have my dad’s face.
I could sit here, and write about all the fucked up things my dad has ever done to me. I could spend an eternity blaming him for everything that is wrong with me. But, I gotta man the fuck up, and put on the happy face. I wish I didn’t always have to put on the happy face though, I wish I could for once, spend an entire day wearing the sad face. Unfortunately the sad face when worn for too long can really cloud your judgement. I suppose it’s a complicated balancing act reserved for people like me who suck at letting go. I’ve found that hiding behind humor works for a time, because you can make everyone laugh, give yourself a laugh, and no one will ever know how much pain you’re truly in. You never have to have to answer the complicated questions; you never have to acknowledge the fact that your heart has a million gashes in it, all inflicted by the one you thought you could count on.
The sad thing however, is that you can only ignore the wounds for so long. One day you’re in a severe amount of pain, and can’t figure out why when the answer is literally right under your nose. In the world of mental health, we like to use a term called “The Strong Friend”. I’d like to consider myself the Strong Friend. I’m the guy that has to seem like I have it all together in so many aspects of my life. I have to put on the face of a guy who is ready tackle every problem thrown at him. I cast aside fixing my own problems for the sake of helping others in pain. I pick others up so that they never have to experience the pain that tears me up inside, all while my heart screams in agony. Ignoring these wounds for far too long has come to bite me in the ass. Some days, I’m just an absolute wreck. I know I’m dire need of some professional mental health help, and have tried to make it work with the therapist I have now. I’ve hit the wall that made me remember why I stopped seeing her in first place. I’ve realized now that it’s time for a change of scenery, I need a therapist who is better equipped to handle my problems. Finding that therapist is like a finding hay in the needle stack. I pray, but with no answer when I want it. Guess I just gotta keep praying.
I really don’t know what to feel in pertaining to my dad. Some days, I just feel like crying an ocean of tears. Other days, I just want to punch him in the face. There are days I wonder when he’ll just drop dead. I’ve had dreams that involve me savagely beating the shit out of him. These dreams scare me because I’m the furthest thing from violent. I’m scared of my anger, I’m scared of me. I’m scared of what I’ll do some days if that chance were ever given to me. I just want all of this to go away. I just wanna be happy again. I’m tired of being in pain, tired of feeling shitty, tired of this shit having so much power over me, tired of always writing about this shit. Maybe I just need to stop for a moment, and sit with this pain; but I can’t sit with this pain, time stops for no one, especially sad old me. I gotta keep walking because there’s no one as good at being Flemmings as I am.
I promise I’m not in any danger of hurting myself, or anyone else. I’m just in a lot of fucking pain, and I need to come to grips with that. I need to accept the fact that there are a million gashes on my heart, and that the healing will come from a lot of prayer. Maybe one day God will send me the person, or people who will put Humpty Dumpty back together cause shit, I can’t even put myself back together. I just needed to vent; I just need to take off the happy face for a few moments. I’m sure I’ll put it back on in time, because why tell everyone you run into that you’re sad? Of course, this is the mentality that got me into this mess in the first place. I can’t believe this is the last blog of the season. They say to end on a high note, but this feels like a note so low your subwoofer would be jealous. I promise the next season of blogging will be a return to form with a lot of the light hearted, and introspective stories I used to write. I also hope to get back to writing that book. I was on a roll, and then I slacked hard. It’s been a crazy year y’all. Maybe next season we’ll finally have a blog about my girlfriend 😉