Part Two

I feel like I need to explain myself a bit after my last post. Not because I owe anyone an explanation but I just feel I need to clarify, you know, make things I said a little clearer.

When I say I’m afraid of being like my Father I’m only trying to compare Apples to Apples. I know there are many differences between us. Believe me, I thank my stars every day for that. What I see as so similar is our emotional retardation. His inability to accept others’ love and affection is something I don’t think anyone can say isn’t something I also suffer from. The difference is, and this is something I kind of admire about him, is his ability to at least fake it. Actually, he would know exactly what I’m talking about.

Something I’ve truly strived for and, I believe I’ve succeeded at, is in most of my relationships with people I try to let them know how important they are to me. You guys know what you mean to me. I’ve written ad-nauseum about that very subject on so many occasions that I sometimes get the feeling you’ve got to be kinda sick of it. That’s something he’s never even attempted.

Where I feel I’ve failed miserably is in allowing the reciprocation of those feelings to enter my reality. I’ve always written about how much I want to feel love and though so many of you are constantly trying to reassure me of said love, I just, I don’t know, find it hard to fathom. Yeah, I know, that all comes back to one loving themselves and that’s the real thing that I need to work on.

See, there’s another similarity between us. And, once again, I admire his ability to fake it. That’s really the one and only trait I wish I could carry on from him. I know, deep inside, that I’m not the fraud I fear so much and I truly believe you all when you tell me the same. For that, I will always be grateful to each and every one of you.

He's So Empty

I can’t believe how angry I am at him right now. I’ve never been one to blame any of my problems on anyone but me. Looking at him this weekend, at times, filled me with a rage I haven’t felt before. Actually, I really didn’t feel it until I woke up this morning and knew I needed to get in the car to leave.

I’ve written a number of times about my fears of becoming like him and I realize that nobody thinks we’re anything alike. While seeing him though, it was so obvious to me how similar we are. The purest difference between us is that I’m ashamed of these traits while throughout his life he wore them as a badge of honor.

Every single quality he believes he has are the same things I abhor about myself. He spent his marriage to my Mother basically ignoring her. I was very close to the same with Shelly. We Kids always talked about how empty he was inside. How, in reality he could never have a real relationship with anyone simply because he was incapable of loving anyone. Over the last few years I’ve overcompensated so much that I practically beg for it and when presented the opportunity shut myself down so much that it seems I have no interest. I’m so afraid of the whole thing and twice as ashamed for feeling that way.

The people that like him have no idea what he’s really like simply because he has no ability to let anyone in. I’m so afraid that what you all see in me is the same act that he’s been putting on for as long as anyone can remember. It’s always show time for him and I can’t help but wonder, obviously with different personalities, if I’m just as big of a fraud as he is. I’m always questioning if I’m just putting on this open, sensitive act to ensure that I’ll always have people around.

I know, we’re all broken in one way or another. I can’t help but think that my cracks are a direct result of him. When I first saw him yesterday, as he had no idea I was coming, his first words to me were. “Oh, I thought I was gonna have a good day”. Of course, my being as plastic as he, we both laughed. I used to call him Daddy as a small child and I’m so ashamed of that. I’ve been yelling at myself all day during the drive home and I literally feel pain and exhaustion just from the whole head game. I didn’t deserve that from him. None of us did. Excuse my language but, fuck you Dad. FUCK you Dad. FUCK YOU DAD!!!

Things Just Seem To Work Out

I’ve always had this, feeling I guess, that no matter what situation or life happenstance I’m in, things would just work out. It’s funny when I think about it. I mean, I don’t set myself up in these situations or anything, but even in my worst of times I think, ok, whatever happens, happens and I’ll still wake up in the morning and I’ll go on. I often wonder how much of an effect this has had on the direction I’ve taken throughout my now 50 years.

I think my lack of drive or ambition has probably been hit the hardest because of this “condition” or whatever it might be called. Not going to school never bothered me, simply because I just figured my life would work out. Not working hard to develop a real career, same thing. My marriage was kind of like the same thing too. I knew what I had to do to make it work, I just figured I didn’t have to worry about it cuz things would just work out. Even when I knew we were getting divorced, I just went along my merry way, knowing things were just going to work out.

I still, even though I find myself in places I know I shouldn’t be in, feel like it’s gonna be ok. I know when I’m down and hating everything around, I’m really not too worried about things. I mean, just because I’m down doesn’t mean I have this thought of impending doom. I’m not like that character in the old carton Gulliver’s Travels.

Lately, seeing what and where I am, I’m starting to think more and more about things. I know that this feeling I’ve carried forever can also be attributed to laziness. I just don’t want to work that hard to accomplish things. Even realizing that, I still figure I’ll be alright. The problem, to me at least, is that I’m now finding there are things in life I have to work for and I’m not sure I have the skill set to do them. It’s like this: I know that I can have the things I want so badly but in order to get there I have to turn a switch on the wall. The issue is the switch is very high up and I can’t find the ladder. I sometimes think the ladder has yet to be invented, like it’s waiting for me to invent it. The problem is, I don’t know how. Even with these thoughts, I know what I should do, that’s never been a question, I still have this feeling that it’ll all work out.

Whatever

Driving around the other day, I hopped on the freeway and just let the road guide me. As I was moving along at a decent pace, I saw an accident occur. I saw one car move over and slam into another at around 70 miles per hour. I dialed 911 from my cell almost as soon as I saw it and was told that the Police and Ambulance were already on their way. This next part is gonna sound really strange and please, trust me on this, I’m ok. As I kept going I couldn’t help well, not wishing, but almost feeling jealous that it wasn’t me that got hit. Not that I want to get hurt or that I have some kind of death wish, I just, I don’t know, I’m just ready.

Those that know me well understand that this is nothing new. I’ve always been quite open on my feelings of life and death. My biggest complaint about dying has never been death itself, it’s the pain involved with it. While driving that day I couldn’t help thinking how misunderstood this feeling of mine is.

I was talking to a friend the other day about it and she thought I should see someone to talk to about it. I told her I was and she said that I should change Therapists because if I was still thinking this way then she wasn’t doing her job. I find this logic ludicrous. I’ve always thought that a Therapists job was to help one understand their feelings and thoughts not change them. I’ve seen numerous Shrinks over the years and have never hidden my thoughts on the subject. Obviously, they’ve never felt I was in any kind of danger or I would have been committed years ago. Again, anyone that knows me understands that I’m in no danger of hurting myself.

It’s almost like wishful thinking. No, that’s not right either. I’ve always used the word ambivalent when talking about the possibility of dying. I guess I can also use the same word for living. I don’t hate life. I don’t love life. It’s just there. I wake up, ok. I go to work, ok. But I’m just as ok with the idea of not doing those things. I know I’ll get notes and comments’ telling me how wonderful life is and, for those that say it, I’m sure it is. But I’ll also get notes from those that tell me they agree with me and that they’ve never wanted to be a part of life. That’s where the misunderstanding comes in. I don’t feel that way. I just feel like I’m ok either way. I don’t hate living yet I also don’t hate the thought of not living. I think it might be the lazy way to look at it. Whatever…

Ticking Away

Turning 50 in a few days. I’m not really sure how I feel about that. There are the obvious self-asked questions: How much longer might I live? What have I done with my life? Why haven’t I done this or that? I suppose everyone asks these questions throughout their lives. More so, I guess, the older we get. I’m gonna try to not rehash all the regrets I have about the things I’ve done again, I’ve done that here before. I just find it interesting how unlike a 50 year old I, and many others of my generation feel and act.

I’m always talking to people about how much younger we are at this age than our parents were. My Dad moved out of the house when he was 40. I can’t think of anyone around that didn’t think of him as an old man at the time. I’m quite sure his generation felt the same about his parents and my kids feel the same about me. Still, I can’t imagine my parents listening to the music I listen to or liking the things I do. I often wonder what the thoughts of my parents was and is as it compares to mine, not just at this age, but throughout their lives.

I’m not naïve enough to pretend that my likes, dislikes, fears and all the other stuff in my head is so different to anyone else’s but I do wonder how others deal with it better or worse than I do. I know there are very few that allow others so deep into their lives as I have chosen to do. I know I’m quite different than most in that aspect of life. The idea that I’m different than most when it comes to that sometimes gives me pause. I know people must get tired of it and for that I feel bad. I guess it comes down to the idea of me being who I am, take it or leave it, I’ve found, especially over the last couple of years, that this ridiculously large amount of people I’m fortunate to call friends not only allow it but have somehow seemed to embrace this aspect of my life. For that, I am eternally grateful.

I was chatting with a friend last night and I mentioned that there’s a comfort in being a freak and knowing it. It makes things easier for me to know I don’t have to put on a face that, for me at least, is such hard work while out and about. I realize that there are many out there that think I’m full of it and must think I’m faking it when I say the things I do when I’m writing. I simply can’t afford to think about. In the words of the world famous sailor, Popeye, “I am what I am”. I’ve often said that I’m not comfortable in my own skin and I’ve found a way to find a spot in my head to get as comfy as possible with what I have. Am I happy with who I am? No, not even close. Be that as it may be, I still wake up each day and fog the mirror and I’m told that means it’s a good day.

There’s a lyric from a Pink Floyd song that goes, “Another day older and one day closer to death”. I don’t look forward to death so don’t think I’m on the verge of hurting myself or anything like that. I “get” that lyric though. That’s pretty much how I’ve looked at things for as long as I can remember. Thinking that way has obviously shaped the way I am when it comes to being so open about my thoughts and feelings. Man that sounds so morose. It’s not meant to be, but that brings it back to the comfort in knowing myself thing I mentioned earlier. I do like that about myself. I’ve had these thoughts for so long that there’s comfort in knowing where they are and how to get there when I need to. It’s a lot like coming home after work and slipping into my chair. For those that know me well, you know what I mean.

So Happy Birthday to me in a few days. I think I’m ok with it. If not, I’ll just do some searching inside to find the most comfortable way to deal with it and park myself there for a while. Maybe light up a stogie, have a glass of wine and talk to myself for a while. Yeah, there’s comfort there.

It Really Is A Small World

I have this program on my computer that tells me where people are when they get onto my blog. It’s a pretty nice tool and I always like to see the interesting places that people are from that read my stuff. I’ve seen readers from all over the United States, Canada and all over Europe. There are consistent visitors from Moscow, Taiwan and Brazil. One of my favorite things about the blog is the idea that people all over the world have the ability to read it.

The other day I saw that someone had left a comment on a piece called, “Logic, Don’t Look Here”. I opened up the locator program and saw that someone from Tehran, Iran had been on the blog at around the time the comment was left. I thought that was pretty cool. As I was looking at the program, the reader from Tehran came on again. I always like when someone from the same area comes back. I always hope it’s the same person and that they liked what they read and wanted to see more.

A couple minutes after noticing the visitor coming back, I got a message on Facebook. Clicking on it, I saw it was from someone with an Arabic name and nobody I knew. The message asked if I was the writer of the blog and I responded that yes, I was. Within minutes I had a friend request on Facebook from this same person. It kind of took me aback for a second and I decided to take a couple days to think about it.

I’ve thought a lot about the request and, I must admit, I don’t think there has been a minute that I considered accepting the request. There are a couple of reasons for not accepting. The first, and I’m not proud of it, is the idea that someone from a part of the world that is considered an enemy of the United States wants into my circle of friends. That sounds horrible, I know. We all have our prejudices and this has shown me one of mine. Like I said, I’m not proud of it but, it is what it is.

The second, and more important reason, is much more basic. I simply don’t know the person. I am incredibly flattered that there are people out there that have no idea who I am that read and enjoy my writing. The idea that I may have tapped into someone’s feelings with something I’ve written makes me feel wonderful. It also gives me a sort of self-validation on my own feelings. That being said, there is a line that appears that I’m simply not willing to cross.

Though I am very open about myself in the blog, there is still a feeling of anonymity once it’s published. My friends that read it understand me and who and what I am in real life compared to the writer. These friends are people that I’ve chosen to have in my life. Those readers that don’t know me have their own opinions about who I am without knowing me personally. I have always said there is a difference between the person that writes and the person many of you know. The person that you really know wants you to know him. That’s what friends are. My Facebook friends are either people that I personally know or those that, over the years, I’ve developed a real relationship with. Anonymous readers of the blog are not. It’s nothing personal, and I’m flattered by the attention I’ve received from these unknown readers. Still, like I mentioned earlier, there’s a line that I feel shouldn’t be crossed. I like that the line is there, it gives me a sense of safety in my head. Those that know me understand that completely and that’s what makes them my friends.

The New Kid In Town

I have smoked a decent amount of “Pot” in my life. That’s Marijuana, for those not hip on my vocabulary. I smoked it more as a teen and gradually slowed down the older I got. I always enjoyed the buzz and it was never anything that people could say was making me act all crazy and out of control. That last part is and always has been very important to me. While living in San Diego I would smoke a joint on the way to work and nobody could ever tell. If I mentioned it to someone, they’d be surprised because they could never tell. Why do it then? Well, I just enjoyed it. It gave me a decent buzz and I could go along my normal actions and it was never a big deal.

When I got married I slowed down quite a bit simply because I didn’t want to spend the money on it as I now had a family to help support. I would still smoke a bit when I was out with friends but never at home. Honestly, I think I bought some once the entire time I was married. After moving to Florida I bought some once. It was a rather large amount and being that I smoked so little at a time, I kept it in my cigar humidor and it lasted for what seemed like a year. What I’m trying to say here is that I don’t smoke very often anymore. I just don’t want to spend the money on it. I’ll still take a hit off a joint once in a while but there’s also plenty of times that, while in the company of some that are smoking, I’ll just pass. I still like the buzz but it just takes a little to hit me and, of course, I’m able to stay in control of myself throughout.

Well, there’s this new “herb” being passed around these days and it’s completely legal. It’s called Salvia and it’s gaining in popularity. I don’t know very much about it but a couple friends have tried it. Their descriptions of the high are quite entertaining. It makes me actually curious about it. I’ve never dropped Acid or done any other types of hallucinogens and one of the reasons I’ve enjoyed smoking pot is because I can stay in control while smoking it. That doesn’t seem to be possible here.

There are instructions that come with the product and one of the “suggestions” is to not smoke it alone. You should have someone with you to watch over you as you go on this “journey”. That right there is what stops me from ever trying it. I am such a freak about staying in control and never letting anyone see me out of said control that the very thought scares me to death. That fear is one of the main reasons I never get drunk. The very idea of losing control sends a chill throughout my body. There are maybe two people in my life that I would trust enough to allow them to see me that way but once I’d come down from this trip I don’t think I could look them in the eye again. It’s like they would know something too personal about me and I’m way too guarded for that.

I think this is one of those instances where my being such a freak is a good thing. This stuff can’t do you any good and maybe my being so afraid for someone to see me like that is one of those signs from above telling me I’m doing the right thing by not touching the stuff. I’m still curious though.