I’m a good person. I’m certain of that. I’m decent & honest & loyal. I have my faults, of course I do, but as far as I possibly can I try to make sure those faults don’t effect other people. I am atrocious with money & I’ve been irresponsible far too often. I have hurt people in the past. There have been times when I’ve been selfish. I suppose most of us have. I still carry the guilt for the times I’ve hurt people that matter to me. I can be a pain in the arse, I can be annoying. I’m opinionated. I can rub people up the wrong way. I know that. I’m not particularly proud of it but unfortunately it’s who I am. I don’t put on any act, I’m just who I am with my heart on my sleeve & in whatever mood I happen to be in at any given moment. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not. I think the people who really know me genuinely like me.
I care about people. I care about the people I know. I want them to be happy. If someone I know has a problem, my instinct is always to do what I can to help them fix it. I care about my family, I care about my friends, I care about the people I work with. Most of all, I love my son. I am absolutely devoted to him. He’s my first, second & last priority. I think I’m a good dad. I try to be.
I’ve never been in trouble with the police, I pay my bills, I’ve done my best in my job for nearly 20 years, I’ve raised money for charity, I’ve offered assistance to strangers when they’ve looked like they needed help, I’ve been there for people at their lowest ebb, I’ve offered the best advice I could to people in difficult times. I’ve tried to be the best person I can be.
Today though, today, I can’t help asking myself what it’s all been for. Today I am hurtling towards rock bottom because I really don’t know what I have to do in life to catch a break. Is it me? Is it just bad luck? Should I just be thankful that there’ll always be people in a worse situation than me? Am I just being pathetic & self-absorbed & self-pitying?
Because I have to be honest, the last 6 years feel like one long unending nightmare. Perhaps I’m missing the good things that have happened & ,don’t get me wrong, I appreciate every single second I spend with my boy & his happiness means everything to me. Also I know I could have suffered worse things. However, being burgled yesterday just seems to be the latest, possibly greatest, shit thing I’ve had to endure & I’m certain the good things are way, way behind on the balance sheet.
This week alone I’ve had my keys stolen & had to change my locks, I got dumped by a girl I really liked on Sunday when things had been apparently going well (another chapter for the book on my disastrous love life, albeit a brief chapter), I’ve had to put poison down in my house to tackle the latest mouse infestation & then I got burgled.
My boiler has broken this year, a pipe burst in the house, the loft has been taken over by pigeons. That’s just the last few months. The last 6 years have been littered with this stuff, regular & often. And what’s in the plus column? My boy, always my boy. Nothing much else.
I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve finding myself living this life. I spent 5 years on anti-depressants. I came off them last October because I thought I was ready to cope without them. I got to a point where I had a feeling that I might just be bringing things on myself, that being downbeat & unhappy was just attracting more misery. I’ve made a real effort to be positive in the last 6 months. To be optimistic. Not to talk about, or get bogged down in, my own problems or issues. To try to be happier.
I have to say it hasn’t made any difference. I still feel like I’m getting kicked in the teeth. If my son isn’t around I still feel absolutely alone in the world & isolated even when there are people around me.
I feel a pressure to be strong, a pressure to endure, a pressure to be a man, be stoic, show resolve, take things on the chin. I feel a pressure to be that person & I’m trying. I’m really trying. I hate the thought of people worrying about me ever. I don’t like to be fussed over. But my energy feels sapped. I’m not sure how well I’m coping anymore. I feel broken.
I don’t have any real sense of entitlement. I don’t deserve or want anything special. I just want a break. I just want to not have to endure any more for a while. I’m so tired.
They broke into my house. They smashed the window in my kitchen & broke into my house. Glass has been trampled right through the house & it’ll take days to find & clear up all of it. They took my things. In the aftermath last night I tried to deny that I was feeling violated but I do. I feel violated, I feel victimised & I feel scared – scared that it will happen again. I’ve lost a sense of security. I feel humiliated. Right now I feel like putting up bars on all my windows & doors. I want to run away & hide.
So that’s me. That’s where I’m at. I apologise for my self-pitying whining. This is my coping mechanism. I write things down & put them out there. Perhaps sharing helps me feel a little less alone. I’ll go work the rest of the day now. Then me & Wills are off to a wedding tonight. I’ll try to have fun. I’m staying away from home tonight – I can say that because if anyone breaks in while I’m away there’s nothing left worth stealing. Then it’s back home tomorrow to face reality & a visit from the police.
Life goes on.