Woe is me

What does it feel like to have someone worry about you? Ask you how you’re doing once in a while? “You seem sad, what’s on your mind?”

Did I ever have that? Or has it just been so long that it feels to have always been non-existent? I will always have that from my parents. But honestly, I don’t need that type of support from my parents. They wouldn’t know how to help me with my current state of emotions.

This is the self-pity world I’ve created for myself.

My children will and always will be our main priority. Their sensitivity, emotions, health, and overall well-being is more important than anyone else in my life. They are young boys with big sensitive hearts and deserve every ounce of positive energy this universe has to offer. My wife has her support system. Her friends and coworkers are always there to check up on her, especially now that her husband is such an emotional wreck, they are there to see how she is doing. And that truly is wonderful that she has that, she needs that, she deserves that. The other people in her life are going to heaven for being there for her. As for me, I have me. Of course she loves me and supports me, that doesn’t go unrecognized. But to really look into my soul every now and then, that is something that I wish I had here. I receive constant unconditional love from my children. That type of love cannot even be explained. The way a child looks at their mom and dad like we have all the answers to the universe is such an inspiring and magical feeling, and I am blessed for it. But they are 5 and 8 years old. They’re too young and naive to even begin to have a clue to what has been going on with their daddy. There will eventually come a day when they find out that I don’t have all the answers. That I am not the superhero they believe me to be. That I am human just like them. Children this age do not know what bipolar is. That being said, I need another adult in my life to check up on me once in a while. Not my biased parents who will blame everyone for my struggles while denying that mental-illness is a thing. I love them both, but they can’t help me. As a matter of fact, although they mean well and their heart may be in the right place, they would just cause me to have even more anxiety. Back when all I would think about was death and what it would look like to everyone if I had expired my own life, how would it effect my parents? It would absolutely devastate them to the point of absolute inner chaos. It would devastate them to the point of impossibilities. They wouldn’t be able to handle it. In my fantasies, I imagined myself adding to the note, emphasizing that they do not need to worry about me. Do not feel sorry about not being here to protect me. I am a grown man, my adolescence came and went a long time ago. My passing should be easier to process. You’ve protected me when I needed protection. You’ve passed the torch over to me. You’ve seen me grown into a man and you did a really great job. Now you no longer need to worry. You will be sad, but don’t be scared. It’s ok. Really.

That was how my sick fantasies would play out in my head. But I feel the need to clarify that I am NOT suicidal. I know I’m painting this horrific picture for you, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. I don’t need this to be passed over to my therapist or the cops. I do not need an unnecessary 5150. I am safe and the people around me are safe.

All I’m saying is that I am in desperate need to be someone’s concern. If I had that type of support system, to be checked up on, perhaps I would have less self-loathing days and more optimism, like the way I used to be. I used to be awesome. I had a million friends. People would often go to me so I can uplift their spirit. I used to be a fucking rockstar. Where the hell did that guy go? The guy with the calm eyes and peaceful smile who knew all the right answers. I truly did have the key to the universe. I am crying out for recognition, nothing more, nothing less. I need to be reminded that I matter.

“The stars can’t shine without darkness”

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