I've been struggling with something for a while now. Maybe a year? Perhaps longer? I don't know. But it's been causing a mounting sense of dread, sadness, stress, anger and anxiety. Sleeping has become such a problem that in order to even get some rest, I have to take a pill. A pill that doesn't even allow me to hear that my daughter needs saving from monsters in the middle of the night.
That's wrong.
Worse, I've been considering that I might even need to talk to my doctor about getting a pill that allows me to make it through the day without worrying that stress and anxiety that is building up around me.
Again, that's wrong. The only things that are bringing me happiness are my kids, my wife and (only in the last three months) my bike*. What has my life become? What happened to the happy, relaxed dad that quit his job to spend more time with his kids?
Well, today when his lovely four-year-old was begging to stay with him and he was trying to explain that stress, obligation and all the people clawing for his attention wouldn't allow it, he snapped. He yelled at her. He unloaded and told her everything he felt, loudly and strongly. She just looked at him with big, blue eyes and took off her coat as he went into the kitchen. When he returned she ways laying limp, face first on the couch silently weeping.
This is not my life. This is not how I am and this is not who I want to be.
Fighting the urge not to burst into tears myself, I apologized to her. I told her that I was wrong, that I should not have yelled and that I was not mad at her. She didn't do anything. I told her that deep down, daddy was very, very sad and that he had to do something to fix it so that he could be the happy, silly daddy that he once was.
It was at that moment that I've decided to do what I've been silently considering for a week . . . a month . . . a year. Of course, I'm not going to say what it is on my blog, but I can say it has nothing to do with my marriage, drugs, violence or anything like that. But it will make me a better spouse and a better dad. Because those are what I want to be first and foremost. Everything else doesn't even take a back seat. It goes into a moving truck driven by other people and kept at least three car legnths behind us.
I've had this song by Colin Hay stuck in my head for a week and, well, it really sums up every feeling I've been having every day throughout the past year. Okay, it's really a Men at Work song redone by Colin (who used to be their lead singer). But it's better than it ever was in the eighties. Blame Scrubs. That's where I heard it. But it works. Well. To prove how well it works, you should go buy his album Man @ Work or Going Somewhere. Both are surprisingly good. Raw and cathartic as well as a bit nostalgic.
Colin Hay - Overkill (This link will be dead in five days)
And a note to Gert, who cannot read but will know this in her heart. You're daddy's girl, always. I'm truly sorry I took all of that out on you and made you cry and feel sad. I'll make it up to you every day, I promise.
*There is nothing like flying down an open road or trail at the very upper limits of your abilities, going faster than your body has ever been able to propel you and be able to think, "I can do this better if I just keep trying" . . . and a few weeks later you can. And nothing beats that feeling when you get off the bike, your lungs . . . your legs . . . Sometimes you're exhausted, but you want to get back on and give it one more go because, despite the pain--which you admit that you actually like--riding a bike is so much damn fun.
Jeez, Gary. Rather than preach to you about how you're being too hard on yourself, and about how it's obvious that your family has always been treated by you with the love and respect they deserve, and about how you are only human goddammit and everyone looses their temper once in awhile, I want to say this: I empathize with you. It is always the people that care the most and want the best for their loved ones who fear that they are not doing enough. We are the ones who battle with anxiety on a daily, if not hourly basis, and it is us who often need the help of doctors and pharmeceuticals in order to acheive a restful night (or just a night without nightmares.). And I say "we" and "us" because I honestly beleive that I can relate. My intention is not to invalidate your feelings by making your experience less yours, but rather to say to you, Gary, Dad and Husband, dog owner and bike afficianado, music collector and blogger: you are so a good guy, and I think that it's important for you to know that. And it's also important for you to acknowledge your shortcomings and issues, especially the ones that cause you to be stressed out and anxious. It's obvious that you've got a handle on this, or else you wouldn't have been blogging about it to begin with. But it has really hit home with me--I know what it feels like to to look into the eyes of someone you love more than absolutely anything in the world and to hurt them--nothing hurts as much as words and emotions. There is no feeling more painful than this. But there's also nothing more hopeful than to be able to see what's going on and to do something about it. So good on you, Gary. For someone I've never met, I've always felt that you are one of those people who makes a positive impression on his existance. And that's all a person can really do, really. It's not important what your blog pals think about you, but I wanted to share anyway. And whatever it is you've decided to do to address this stage in your life (I hope it's to get a tattoo!), I'll bet that it helps you feel better.
ReplyDeleteDon't feel invalidated at all. No, no tats for me. You'd think as a diabetic I wouldn't be so afraid of needles.
ReplyDeleteIt'll be a good change, I promise. I'll be happy to give you details, if you pop me an email. You're in a unique position to understand exactly what I'm talking about.
And Sorrow, I have no doubt your little brother understands. As a little brother seven times over, I often was barked and and yelled at. However, in the end, I understood. I always understood. But usually after I broke something of theirs.
Gary, I so want to give you a hug, but you don't really seem like a huggy-type, except from adorable little daughters, that is.
ReplyDeleteI am a fan of Colin Hay's, as well, initally through MAW, but kept an eye on him as much as possible since the 80's. My very favourite is Kasim Sulton, though and I listen to his latest as comfort music. Check this 2nd post for 8th November for some lyrics: http://www.kasiminfo.co.uk/Blog/Blog91.html
(also clips at Amazon)
LMK & I'll share.
What you describe is a feeling I am quite familiar with. I'd be happy to share with you if you're interested. I hope you are able to get some relief soon.
ReplyDeleteYou do sound like you need a hug. I'm sure Gert will be happy to oblige.
Gary,
ReplyDeleteI hope this doesn't offend, but know that you're in my prayers. Outside of the bike, Feynman and an interest in how it all works we may not share much in common but if there's anything else I can do, let me know.
The Physicist
Jane: Thank you for the music reccomendation. Sulton was in Utopia with Todd Rundgren, correct? I'll check him out. And thanks for the virtual hug.
ReplyDeleteKathy: I'd love to get your perspective on things. There's nothing worse than getting so wrapped up in your own ideas that you see no other way to look at it than your own pessimism.
Doc (I called you that because it makes you sound like Doc Brown from Back to the Future): I'm honored that you'd keep me in your prayers. You may be surprised; we may have more in common than you might think. We might be taking different paths there, though. After all, isn't that pondering part of an interest in how it all works?