The Man Who Cried in His Office: Part 2

I appreciate the kind words from those of you who commented on my post the other day. I was going to respond to each one individually, but decided to lump them together into a small post. Although I appreciated these words, I must say I am not worthy of such encouragement. My son's picture still sits on my desk, and I can see him judging me every moment of the day. I see his perfect smile and sense it is somehow fake. The same fake smile I had to put on my face in the name of school pictures. Just to show the world you are happy when in reality you are broken inside. What he is feeling behind that smile is tearing me apart. I am sick to my stomach and want to throw this picture off my desk, and hide behind my wall of lies and justifications. I cannot bring myself to do this. I feel this symbolically degrades him as a human being.

I received some advice from Rambling to sit my kids down and ask them their assessment of me as a father. I am far too much of a coward to ever do this. I am afraid to honestly hear what they think, because the answers I will hear will further cause me to look in the mirror of my true self. The one thing I hate more than anything is my reflection in the mirror. To see who is peering back at me is to much to handle. Everything and everyone I hate is in those eyes.

My kids are the perfect reflection of what I will never become. What kind of person am I who taints that reflection with my imperfections? I wish I could just flip a switch and shed this skin of mine and walk out a new person. What is my purpose in life if all I do is fail those who depend on me the most? I tried speaking to my therapist last night about this haunting picture, and it only made the pain that much more real. I am being tormented by this reality. The one thing I promised to myself was if I ever had children I would not fail them. I vowed to not make the mistakes my father and step-father made. I hated them so very much I could not imagine doing my kids like that. Flash forward to the here and now, and they are my reflection. This reflection I despise so.

My wife always tells me I am a good dad or a good husband when I want to be. If this is true, then why am I not this good father and husband the majority of the time? I would say I am a good father and husband 5% of the time. Does this mean I am willfully choosing to be a fucking prick 95% of the time? If I have this choice then why do I choose to let everyone down? If this was so simple then why am I not what I wish to be? I wrote a poem called "Broken Dolls" in this poem I said "broken dolls from broken homes, build broken homes of their own." Am I building the very same broken home I hated my parents for creating?

I am a shitty person. I am an addict, I am a cheater. I never have, nor will I ever be a good person. Everything I touch, everything I love turns to shit. The last thing I can deal with is knowing I am decaying my children's innocence with my shit stained hands. I think the thing that is most fucked up is I have the power to change this, yet I choose not to. This I think illustrates who I truly am inside.