I don’t even know where to start. But all these emotions are just swamping me. They’re pinning me down. I need to let it out. I feel like crying. But that would mean defeat. I don’t know, I’ll probably cry anyway. I’m alone. Funny, there’s hundreds of billions of people on this planet. Yet I’m alone.
I’m a father. A husband. I used to love my wife, probably still do, but I don’t know. Why does she do this to me. She’s probably the most important thing in the world, right beside to my son, who has autism. Yet she treats me like dirt. I don’t know. I don’t know.
I think of a lot of things. Most of the time, what I do is but a fraction of what goes into my thought process. I’m not looking at the keyboard right now. I’m thinking this is something that I’ve always wanted to do. To type what I feel, as I think of it. I think of all the nasty thoughts. I think of all the wrong things this world has to offer, and all the injustices. I think of what unfairness my life has gone through.
I thought marrying someone would lead me to a better life. She looks at me with pure disgust, just because I was looking for clothes to bring to the gym tomorrow. Probably because I’m overweight. I don’t smoke, I drink, but only occasionally. I’d probably have a pint of beer a month, tops. I enjoy food. I eat when I’m down. I need to lose weight.
I think I’m headed for a nasty divorce. I don’t think I’ll ever love again. I probably will, but I won’t allow myself to. I don’t think I can go through this again. I want to be a father. I am a father, but not to only one child. My wife doesn’t want to have anymore kids. She says it will kill her. Her body won’t be able to handle the pain, the process of going through another pregnancy. I don’t even think I want her to have my next child. I want more children. I want someone to be able to listen to me, and know that I am their father, and that I’d be able to talk to them.
I’m tired. What is this. Why is it like this. My father is nowhere to be found. He’s got a new wife. My mom is fucking clueless to what’s happening. I feel like I’m going crazy. I wonder how many people I made to smile today. My wife was surprised when I got home. It’s as if her peace had been broken. She had that look of disappointment. What the fuck.
I’m getting drunk in this misery. I don’t think I’m ever going to trust anyone ever again. I don’t think I’d want to. I can now understand why some people never get married. There’s my work colleague, he’s a cool guy, but he’s never settled. He has a good sense of humour, but I just don’t know why. Wait I do know why. He’s not going to be putting up with this go damn motherfucking emotional and mental abuse that women put men through.
I’m not a violent person. I don’t think I’ll ever be a violent person. I can be violent. My ex-girlfriend, that whore (literally, she fucked another guy to make me jealous and I had to take her home afterwards, I’m a fucking idiot) brought out the worse in me. Kinda like what my mom did to my dad.
Suicide. No that’s not an option. Isn’t it? The great reset. You’ll be forgotten in a few years’ time, if you’re lucky. I might kill myself after this. No one would know who I am. This is Gain Gunrall, but that’s not my real name. It probably will, if I decide to suddenly go somewhere where no one knows me. Live my life like I want it to, or at least almost like it.
I’m sick of this. If I had the time to write something for everytime she took my heart out of my mouth and stepped on it, I’d probably have a book’s worth of material. This is a start. I need to do this. If I don’t do this I’d go crazy.
Let’s see what she’s going to do tonight. The other night she gave me the most disrespectful look of disgust. It still haunts me. I’d like to escape. I’d like to dream. I’d like to be a good father. I already tried, many times, to be a good husband, but humans are never content. It’s never enough.
So what is she going to do tonight. I bet she’s going to keep on talking. I bet that she’s going to talk 90% of the time, and let me do the other 10%, but only to approve of what she’s been saying. Then there’s that small 1% chance that I’ll say something that will make her think why in the world she married a guy like me. I’m a fucking idiot. A twat. A fucking waste of space. Somebody who should be splattered across the map.
She’s going to feel bad for thinking of all those bad things about me. And it’s going to be my fucking fault. I don’t even know why I’m typing this. I guess I need it. It’s a silent scream. A shout to the world, that here I am, my existence, is going to cease to exist. At the very least, I’d like to leave a mark, and not tell the world of who I really am (unless you’re the FBI, or another government agency, then you probably already know who I really am, yay, here’s a candy).
Tomorrow, I’m going back to work. I’m going to help more people. I’m going to make those people feel better. I’m going to feel like SHIT when I get home. I’m going to feel like I’m the most inadequate person alive. I just don’t know why I even bother. Why?