International happy day my fucking ass.

What the fuck have I got to be happy about?
 
I haven’t seen my children in nine months. My bitch of an ex-wife has done everything she can to sever me from them. Throughout our marriage, my anxiety problems and depression were reasons for her to be angry with me or tell me to buck up or remind me that other people have it worse.
 
Now that we’re divorced, she’s seized on said same mental health problems to keep me from my children.  By the way, honey? Do you use the same dismissive, belittling language with our daughter?  If so, you sicken me.  If not…where was that sympathy when I was the one suffering?
 
I can’t find work…no matter how hard I try. I can’t get hired for minimum wage because they take one look at me and say I’ll bail the instant something better comes along. I can’t find anything in my field, and I can’t get retraining for anything else.
 
Welfare barely covers my rent. Otherwise, I have to depend on my octogenarian mother and pre-retired sister for money to buy food, pay bills, or keep from going insane.
 
My friends live so far away it makes it easy to ignore a message or a phone call…not that I bother…I know I’m not important to them.
 
What have I got to be happy about? My isolation? My lack of options?
 
Fuck international Happy Day.

Forsaken

God damn you all.

You have forsaken me after all I have ever done to be there…to be supportive…loving…to offer what encouragement I could.

You betrayed me…you abandoned me…or worse…you ignored me.

All of you.

Everyone I have ever known and loved…with the exception of my children…who themselves were poisoned against me by lies.

I hate you all.

Solitude is…

Solitude is knowing that, however important people are to you, no matter how much you love them, no matter how much you need them, you don’t matter anywhere near as much to them.

Solitude is knowing that, when you are at your lowest, the people you rely on to lift your spirits and give you a reason to live will avoid you, or be too busy to prioritize you.

Solitude is knowing, that despite the pain it inflicts upon you, that you are just not that significant a part of your loved one’s lives.

Solitude is knowing you won’t be discovered until a strange smell emenates from your flat.

I give up.

I’ve begged, raged, tried to negotiate, I’ve reminded our children that I miss them and love them…I’ve demonstrated my willingness to submit to whatever examinations you wish…and still…I am left alone, in the void, avoided…and without my children.

You’ve broken my spirit.  The only thing I want is the only thing you deny me: to be a father to my children.

I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worse enemy…even you don’t deserve to know how much this hurts…I know I certainly don’t.

I want to see my children.  If your intent really is to not ever let me have that privilege…at least have the decency to tell me, so that I can grieve.

If you ever even gave a good god damn…

Author, Curmudgeon, Geek, Opinionated