The Obituary

  A couple of posts ago I mentioned writing an obituary about my marriage. Turns out its much more difficult to get started writing that than I thought. My attempt here is to describe why it is hard, and how I can't possibly do it justice.

  Twice in my life I have had to say goodbye to everyone.

  The first happened just after highschool. Having been moved around a lot growing up, I never had a close group of friends. But highschool had changed that. The first three years were spent at Riverside Christian Highschool and I had gained many friends. Chaos and confusion in my life gradually consumed the friendships, leading me to leave all of them behind. The culminating moment was when I stole a battery charger from a friends garage. When I was discovered I was so embarrassed and shamed I never went back.

  So when my ex and I started seeing each other, it was with that wreckage in my not so distant past. Somehow I knew that I would someday hurt my bride and I would be alone again. So I kept guarded and medicated with drugs, alcohol, and pornography. Mediocre attempts were tried to stop those behaviors, but they were halfhearted and short lived.

  Gradually my family felt the impact of my sickness. It was a slow motion travesty.

  I had become an expert on building facades. I could present myself as one who had it all together, yet inside I was a mess. My wife saw the disparity but was helpless to intervene.

  My drinking became steadily worse. Blackouts were common. I didn't know it at the time, but energy drinks and hard alcohol is a recipe for amnesia. I drank both frequently.
  Sometimes the blackouts were amusing, often tragic. Trying to piece together who I had talked to, and what we had talked about, was always an adventure.

  But the blackouts grew dark. Arguments and horrible behaviors came out when I drank. It was a brutal lifestyle. My last night drunk was July 5th of 2010, and I had behaved very badly.

  (I am sorry I won't write about the specifics in this forum. The people I hurt and the stuff I did aren't things for public consumption. They are things that get talked about in close personal settings.)

  We separated. That became the second time I have had to let everyone go. This time I had to say goodbye to my own children. Fuck me. Nothing can prepare a man for that kind of pain.

  My children are still very hurt by who I was. Reconciliation hasn't started between us yet. People in recovery tell me to just stay the course and become well, someday I can make those amends. It hurts to think about how long that will take.

  A couple of days ago my older daughter referred to me as Josh, not Dad. She went on to say that she wasn't ready to talk. Guess I am further away than I had even guessed.

  This is another one of those blogs that is all over the place. I hope it makes sense.

  My ex and I never talk, and my kids don't want to talk to me either. I wish I could escape. How much pain can one guy truly bear?

  Escaping isn't even a viable option anymore. Having made contact with my true self severed the connection I had with distraction. The darkness and fog aren't attractive anymore. Its like I see a beautiful distant land on the horizon, and addiction is a storm I had crossed a while ago in the sea. I may not be on the distant shore yet, but I sure as hell ain't gonna turn the ship around.

  How am I supposed to write an obituary?

  Do I love her? Yes
  Do I miss her? Yes
  Were there times of joy? Yes
  What about holidays? Many were great

  See what I am doing there? There is nothing to learn from documenting the moments in a clinical sort of way. I need to cherish the good times and be grateful for them. In a sense I should work towards achieving a state of peace towards the past.

  So maybe someday I will write it all down. Perhaps in a novel or something. That would be fun. What could I call that book? It should be a comedy, a tragic comedy. Insert silly book title here.

  Writing an long obituary isn't feasible. I don't feel emotionally centered enough to do it. I twinge in pain as I think about happy memories, and I roil in horror at the bad ones. There isn't much I can look at without a degree of sadness.

  I hate being defined by my past. Someday, hopefully, my daughters will reach out to me. Someday, hopefully, I can reconcile with my ex (keeping in mind that reconciliation can mean just being able to make amends and thus be able to amicably talk).

  Will I write an obituary? Perhaps not all in one chunk. I think I will document the memories in the blog. This may bring a focus to these writings. Then again, I may continue my random thoughts. Either way, I walk away from these notes a bit refreshed. I really like the ability to go back and reread my past thoughts.

  Except for the misspellings and bad phrases, I hate seeing those! You with me, right?!!! I mean, come on, the emotions and realism is good and all, but try and edit a little! Who can read such ramblings!