The sad part is my kids don’t get much of me and my happiness. They get something less than joyful, most of the time. I can see it and feel it in them.
I’m sad sometimes about the amount of time I have lost of my kids’ childhoods. I long some days for them to be 5 and 7 again and be loving, cuddling little beings. But they are teenagers heading back to high school. I find myself getting depressed as school starts back up for my children.
I talked to my daughter this weekend about setting up my second bedroom for her. “I want more time with you. More time just being around you. I miss you.” I could tell she was feeling the same things. It was a touching moment between us as we looked at each other in the Apple Store on 5th Avenue in New York City.
What I’m coming to is this: we are where we are for a reason. I am in this place to heal. I am alone to learn to be alone again. I am unemployed because I need to learn to value my work in a way that doesn’t compromise or destroy my personal life.
It is such a familiar feeling when I retreat back into my isolation. It doesn’t feel good, but it feels familiar. My broken and alone self is one I identify with.
“I hate Christmas…”
I may never forgive my ex-wife for changing my time with my kids forever. The system is rigged in a mom’s favor, and as a dad I was given my “deal” and told to grin and bear it “for the benefit of the kids.”
I really wanted to disappear. I didn’t directly want to kill myself, but I could see the appeal of not waking up in the morning.
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She watched his slide into paranoia, sat with him all night to prevent his suicide, but she could not put him back together again.
“I should have been the one working late, not her. If I had been a better provider, she wouldn’t have to work so hard.”
When I accessed my anger that night, it was like a switch had been thrown on inside and the power to my healthy system was restored.