2/5/2022

I’m sitting here in a Tim Horton’s parking lot, drinking my coffee and thinking about how my life has turned out so far. Trying desperately to remember the few “good” times that have happended along the way. I was there for all my children’s births, seeing their little faces. I try to remember their firsts. the steps, the words, their laughs. I’m not allowed to talk to their mothers anymore about any of it. Not in a loving way as two people who made a life. I try to remember the good times i had with their mothers, but all I can think of is how both of them dismiss old memories of us as if we never existed and that instantly makes the memory go dark. Those are my memories from the age of 17 to now. My kids and my pain.

All I wanted was to be a husband and Father. All I tried to do was be the best at both. Both times I was left for another who was only there for them, my ex’s. I had and have become the blame, the reason, and the cause for every bad thing that my children do or don’t do. Never for any good. After the “fire” I have never been told by either of them that I’m a good Father or anything. No Father’s day thank you for being their Dad. No apreciation for child support or things bought for their needs. Nothing. Yeah, I should do these things and I shouldn’t expect appreciation for supporting my own children. But, after a lifetime of not good enough, I would like some sort of compliment or acknowledgement.

I read and hear of these saved marriages and familys and all I can think of is how I was never given an opportunity to save mine. There was no regrets from my ex’s, no second thoughts, and no reasons given. One day I, all of a sudden, just became not good enough. Not worth anything. I could fall off the face of the Earth and nothing would stop and look back for me.

I can’t remember if it was Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn who spied on their own funeral, but I would love to see how people would react to my “death”. Morbid, I know, but for all the cries for help and pleas for support that have fallen on the deaf ears of friends and family over the course of my divorce, I can’t help to think that it will be trouble enough to despose of my body. Frankly I’ve said it and I’ll say it again, I will be long dead and rotting before anyone will come looking. I will be the smell coming from apartment 8.

I don’t have money to just pack up and go, she saw to that. Where would I anyway?  The only family that knows of me is the family that doesn’t talk to me. No Aunts or Uncles anywhere. No Cousins that know me or that are close enough to offer me a place to stay until I get established. I certainly don’t want to play homeless in a warmer state. So here I am stuck in my nightmare.

DAY 2 of no texts or calls from the “people” in my life.