Læs dagbog

Hello world

En side i dagbogen "A day in the life of..."
Skrevet af Hillgrove 12. maj 2020 22:52

So... welcome to the insights of a rambling man. This is my first attempt at making some kind of diary or chronology over my life, in the hopes that it can help me learn more about my issues and hopefully in the long term, help me combat them.

First of all, a bit about myself. I’m a 42 years old man, who’s mind is still stuck in the mid-twenties, which is when stuff really started going downhill for me.
I’m Danish, but I write in English as I find it easier to express myself. Someone might say it’s because these thought I put to text, won’t feel as real if they’re not in my mother tongue.
Due to my circumstances, I’m unemployed, on welfare, I’m fat, I live with my mom, I’m depressive, I’ve had repressed feelings all my life, I might suffer from some anxieties and I have lost all belief that the future has anything positive in store for me.
I still have hope... although that star is getting more and more dim.

I believe my problems started where so many of the more serious issues do start. They start at home. I can’t remember much of my childhood as I’ve repressed much of it, but I still get glimpses. For example, when I as a young (6-year-old?) child, woke up at night due to commotion in the kitchen on the floor beneath me. My mom and dad were having yet another fight. The sound of plates and service being hurled through the air and shattering against the walls, the sound of my dad hitting my mom, the sound of her crying. To this day I still try to protect her, even if I (maybe?) partly blame her for not being brave enough to leave him, before he ruined hers, my sister’s and my life.

I believe my father was an alcoholic narcissist. As such I was never a son to him. I was something he could use to prop himself up on, when I did something good, or putting me down and ridicule me when I didn’t. One thing was sure. He was never wrong and God forbid if you ever crossed him. I don’t remember this myself, but I’ve been told I was beaten and kicked on multiple occasions as a child.

He died last summer. Before that I had finally worked up the nerves to confront him with a letter. My sister has done this several years (and several psychiatrists) earlier with a positive result. She gained a ‘somewhat’ normal relationship to our father and she’s had a lot of positive changes in her life since then.
I was not to be so lucky. He was diagnosed with lung/throat cancer last January, and I knew that if I wanted some kind of redemption or peace, I had to confront him now. I was really struggling with the decision though... do you step on a man that already lies down? Will I regret not doing it?
In the end I wrote him a letter of how I felt, and how much he’s hurt me. He received it in February. He died in September. I never heard a word from him.

I still can’t figure out if the rage and sorrow I feel, is sorrow for loosing my dad and rage against myself for abandoning him when he needed me the most, or if I’m raging at him for giving up the last chance I had to get a redemption and the sorrow I feel is for me.

All I know is that whenever I stop keeping my mind busy or drowning my thoughts in games, movies, food etc. I just want to scream and cry my heart out, throw the desk at the wall and break stuff.

... But I can’t.