Up in the datus

Hah... So it's a damned good thing I never made any sort of commitment on how often I'd use this, because it's been months, almost half a year, since my last post. 

Depending on how you look at it, nothing has changed. But also, a whole hell of a lot has changed. We're poised on the brink of a shitty remake of World War II, but this time we're the fucking Nazis. Everything is infuriating and scary and every week (sometimes every day) some fresh hell gets birthed so there's not even time to digest what came before. There's glimmers of light, of hope, but they're tiny, precious and so goddamned rare. 

The real bitch of it is... I just don't care. No, let me rephrase: I just can't care. I do care, I want to care, but it's so fucking much, and I'm so goddamned tired. To borrow a line from Em Beihold: It's like my body's in the room but I'm not really there, like I have empathy inside but I don't really care, like I'm fresh out of love but it's been in the air.

Am I past repair?

'cause to torture it a bit more, I am more than a little bit tired of trying to care when I don't, of these quick repairs to cope. I am just broken and broke.

I.. I was about to say that I know that there's a light on the horizon, but it felt wrong to say that. Not inaccurate, but incorrect, if that makes any sense? I don't know that there's a light. I have reason to think there might be, but so many things I've looked forward to have been... disappointing. It feels unwise to hope. Numb feels like the best I can do most days, and I should feel fortunate that numbness is an option, because rage, fear, despair and hate are all readily available options.

I have reasons in my life for the way I feel. But it's like I said in my first post here: none of them are specific enough to blame or pin down or fix. I've overcome some shit in my life. I've survived two deployments, a divorce, 22+ years in the Army, several cross-country moves, years away from friends and family, a childhood in a home that may not have been broken, but certainly wasn't whole. I've grown as a person, become better, wiser, kinder in a lot of ways. I think people who know me like me, for the most part. 

I'm not sure how many people actually care about me, though. I think my wife does, most of the time. I think my kids do, as much as children ever do. Beyond that, nah. My own mother seems to like my ex-wife better than she does me; it's like, once I gave her a daughter-in-law, I'd fulfilled my purpose. She also likes my wife more than me, but that doesn't hurt as much as the fact I'm pretty sure she'd pick my ex, who broke my fucking heart, hurt me, lied to me, cheated on me, took advantage of my kindness and fucked me up in so many ways I'm still recovering from. I don't think I could ever forgive anyone who did that to someone I cared about, let alone choose them. 

But in some ways, I wonder if I'm any better? I don't really like my oldest boys. My eldest, whom I dreamed of and named decades before he existed is such an asshole. He's autistic, but I think he uses it as an excuse for treating people like shit. I've all but given up any hope of having a real relationship with him. My second eldest is heading in the same direction. My ex has poisoned his mind with the nastiest parts of Christianity and while I don't think he's a bad kid or a bad person, he's moving in that direction, despite my best efforts. He's almost as selfish as his brother; I mean, I get it, they're teenagers. Selfishness is almost necessary for their development at this point, but he has no consideration for anyone else, and he's drifting further away from someone I'd want to know. Anyone but my own damned kids, and I'd already have given up on them both.

How the fuck do I call myself a decent father or human being with that as evidence? My kids are becoming bad people, and I'm obviously not able to figure out how to stop it. And apparently I'm so fixated on this that I already bitched about this back in December.

I guess it's just another piece of my sense of self eroding. All of the things I see as integral to who I am as a person are falling to pieces. Protector, provider, father, creative, intellectual, friend... I feel like I am bad at all of them and the only people who'd miss me if I vanished are the people who I provide for. My brain knows my wife would miss me, but I can't help but wonder if she'd miss the fact that I do half the childcare and provide all of the income even more than she'd miss me as a person and a partner. My daughter might not even notice I'm gone; she loves me and seems to, mostly, enjoy my company when I'm here, but she's so wrapped up in her own world that I don't know if it would register if I wasn't here anymore. 

My co-workers would miss what I bring to the table. I know I'm appreciated there.. but only as someone who mostly does good, conscientious work. While no random individual may do all the things I do with the same quality, anyone else might do a lot of things I do better, too. I guess I'm feeling a little extra fragile in that department, despite getting a raise and a few "shoutouts" (public acknowledgements that come with a little extra cash from the company) because three people that I know have been let go unexpectedly in the last week. I don't know how warranted it was or wasn't because it's mostly not my business, but it feels like a lot.

I probably need therapy. I could probably get it covered at no additional cost because I have insurance through my retirement and my work, and I've got VA benefits besides. But even thinking about it feels bad, because Amber needs it more, has a psychiatrist repeatedly urging her to get therapy, and I just can't justify how much faster it would cause us to sink into debt. Still, I wonder if I'd be a better person if I had it. Maybe I'd be more motivated, less of a fucking slug, crushed by pressure and reluctance into immobility, apathy. Maybe I'd have more patience with my daughter. Maybe I'd find the right way to connect with my sons. Maybe I'd have the motivation to help my wife feel desired and loved and appreciated again; maybe I'd find the gumption to actually fuck my wife rather than just rub it out in the dark by myself.

But I can't fucking do that, not until I can figure out how to afford therapy for my wife. Maybe that's stupid, but it's the way it will be. I refuse to do it otherwise.

So many things come back to what we can afford... which is nothing. I got a raise, but we also got a fucked economy, so it's like breaking even, if breaking even means still sinking into debt. I can plot the decline; I have a prediction for how much debt we'll have by December, and I fucking know that my estimate is conservative as hell; we're going to be in so much more debt than that, because I'm only accounting for what I can predict, and I know there's always unpredictable, whether it be legitimate emergency or laziness or just needing to try to feel human for a little bit, even if it's not for me.

I think I need to cry. Like a good cleansing ugly cry. But whenever I have tried in the past, it always peters off before I feel clean, emptied out. It's like opening the floodgates, but then they get clogged by shit, or I start to worry that the water's gonna do damage or I get stupid about optics (do I look sad? Mostly, I don't, which is weirdly frustrating) and it dries up. 

That last parenthetical is worth a little unpacking. I remember it most clearly when I was going through my divorce. I was so fucked up at that time, it was the only time I even briefly considered stepping off the escalator. I remember looking at myself in the mirror when my eyes were burning and my face felt puffy and congested. I just knew I had the kind of face that would draw attention, sympathy, empathy.. but when I looked in the mirror I looked like me. Maybe my eyes were a little red, but definitely only at the point where I could easily claim I'd just gotten a little dust. Otherwise my face looked... non-emotive. Robotic. 

Oh, fuck that word. I remember jumping down one of my Soldier's throats because they'd jokingly dubbed me the cyborg. I'd never loved the nickname, but everyone had a vaguely insulting nickname; it was meant to be fun ribbing, and most everyone laughed it off. But I'd just come back from the leave that ended my marriage and was so full to bursting of emotions I couldn't express that cyborg, robot, alien, all of these words I've been called over the years felt deeply personal and hurtful. I hate it, but it's also a shield I use, because I don't know what to do with these emotions. I don't really even know how to feel them properly. The closest I ever get is these long-winded, intellectualized unpacking of feelings, which obviously aren't helping. 

Or fuck, maybe they would if I did them more often; I didn't feel as emotionally constipated when I was younger and was writing emo diary entries either in-private or in pseudo-public on a regular basis. Maybe that was just because I was younger and had less stressors. I certainly remember being happier; Could be rose-colored glasses, but I think I actually was. I was certainly more social and active and interested and ambitious.

Fuck it, I'm done for now. Maybe I'll go listen to sad music and try to have a good cry, even though I know I'll fail. Might be better than nothing.