Finding My Voice

Wow. Remember this? The Blank White Page…man, I’ve missed it. I got my ass kicked last week by an unknown assailant. It wasn’t Strep Throat or Deep Throat, but it was like some evil combination of the two and put me flat on my back for 4 straight days.

Finally got some meds and am back to good-ish these days, but man it was such a helpless feeling when I was in the middle of it. I couldn’t sleep. I was achy and feverish. I had no appetite…not even for destruction.

So, mostly I just lay in bed…willing myself to sleep, but being in just enough pain and having too little throat space to swallow my medicine, to actually fall asleep. And it’s weird what kinds of thoughts come up when you’re in helpless/panic/am I ever going to get better mode.

There’s shit I need to be taking care of right now. I need a job. And a terrible way to try to get a job is on your sick bed in the middle of the night. I couldn’t do anything about it. I was helpless. But, I was really trying to get it all figured out from that state of weakness.

And that reminded me of the way I used to try to do life…from a state of weakness. God, it’s awful to look back on it. To be smart. And funny. And talented. And well liked. Yet, I felt weak all the time. There was a certain way my parents did life. Line up. Follow them. That’s it.

I never got a chance to find my own greatness as a kid. I was told how it was. I learned it wasn’t worth it to battle. I couldn’t win, so what was the point in trying? I was talking to my therapist about it the other day and really the way life played out in my formative years, winning wasn’t really an option.

I didn’t feel like a winner. I had everything going for me. I can look back and see that now. Just how people have always been drawn to me and enjoyed me. But, what they couldn’t see is how miserable I felt inside. I had no confidence in myself. Humor was the one thing I could use to feel okay. But, it was always so temporary. Yeah…that one got the class laughing, but what if my next joke bombed?

The humor came from weakness. And that’s how all aspects of my life were. I had no confidence with girls. No confidence in sports. I was just this really on edge kid who lived with this constant tension. I was always on the verge of embarrassment. I remember this one green shirt I wore a lot in probably somewhere around the third grade. It was soft…like suede or something weird. But, I remember the feeling it gave me. It was a shirt that I remember wearing and getting incredibly embarrassed in. I felt like my whole body was blushing.

And really, that’s how I walked around. My dad had his way of doing things. He made me uncomfortable. So, at home I did things the way he told me to and stayed the hell away from him whenever I could. But, that created an acceptance of my weakness and an avoidance of conflict that would be a problem down the road.

When I first was kicked out of the house four years ago, I was miserable. Probably a similar helpless feeling to what I had this week. Didn’t even know where to start. Just felt awful. And lonely. And hopeless.

But, I got up. And a stripper smiled at me. And I started down this road of actually facing my shit and finding my voice. Given the circumstances, I was in a pretty good place…seeing my therapist…talking through shit with great friends.

But, when it came time for me to have a voice and fight for my time with the kids, I didn’t realize I had a say. I was so conditioned to just accept whatever bullshit was dealt me that I just accepted it when my ex-wife wouldn’t let me see the kids.

Matt and the Stripper was the big headline, but instead of listening to the rest of the story, the kids and I were punished. My therapist still contends that the stripper probably saved my life. But, I was told I couldn’t see the kids during a particularly rough week. And one day I showed up at my house and there was a new front door to which I didn’t have the key.

And I’d tell my ex-wife that it was our house. And the kids needed both of us. And she could stay at her mom’s while I got some time from the kids and she got a break from them. It would have been healthier. For everybody. But, she said no. And my therapist asked me recently, “Why did you put up with that?”

I didn’t know I had a choice. Here’s logic. Here’s a healthy solution. Here’s what’s best for the kids. Instead I’d get “You can be with the kids Saturday afternoon.” And on my way over find out that my son would be napping and she told my daughter she could play at a friend’s instead.

The kids were going through the kind of trauma that they’ll always remember and I really wasn’t allowed to comfort them through that. I wasn’t allowed to be present. And I didn’t fight. It kills me to look back and see how weak I was. But, it’s also cool to see how much I’ve grown.

I do have a voice now. I am there for the kids every week. There’s still bullshit to deal with. But, I am always going to get my time. I said something the other day to Blake about when he was 2. He said…kinda joking, “I didn’t know you when I was two.” It’s partially true. I missed out on shit that I can’t get back.

But, when I watch him battling his emotions these days, it sucks to watch him rage and scream and go crazy on the one hand, but I’m just glad to be here for him on the other. He feels out of control. His sister and his mom have a big voice. He compensates with anger and frustration. He doesn’t have the verbal skills or the ability to put words to his emotions yet and that frustration leads to all sorts of manifestations.

But, the kid just needs dad time. And mom time. and time to be himself. He lights up whenever he does something that makes me proud of him. He loves to show me all the great things he can do. And it sucks that the way his story played out so far has me only in his life half the time, or even less. But, I hope to God that he finds his voice sooner than I did.

The same helpless feelings I had when I was sick is what he walks around with. So, I’ll ride with him. And get him to believe in himself. And hopefully reparent myself in the process. You do have a say son. And your voice is fantastic. God, that got me. The thought of getting that as a kid. I can’t imagine that, but that’s exactly what I have the chance to give my boy now.

Fuck the helpless feeling. Fuck the defeated little boy. I get to fight back now. And use my words. And that’s a pretty powerful feeling. It takes away the panic and the helpless and puts me in control. I'm feeling the feelings. I'm writing the words. I'm in control.