Daughter

I saw a picture of my daughter, Eevee, several days ago. I didn’t have the presence of mind or the will power to write about that experience at the time, but it’s easy to remember how I felt. The first feeling really surprised me: happiness. I felt happy. There she was, smiling her big, beautiful smiling, just being pretty and wonderful. She’s only 2, but I kept thinking, irrationally that maybe she thought about me sometimes and I wondered what she might think.

Then I saw Sarah, holding her. And I felt something different: guilt. And sadness. She was smiling too, but I knew it couldn’t have been the same kind of smile. So many questions began to formulate in my head… What does she think every time she sees Eevee? Does she think about me? What will she say to Eevee about me when she grows up? How can I live with the thought that I did this to someone? Will she ever forgive me?

It hadn’t taken long to get over Eevee after Sarah and I broke up. In fact, I hardly thought of her at all, the only person I could think about was Sarah and how angry and confused I was. But now, 2 years later, Sarah’s become almost an after-thought. The first thing that comes to mind is Eevee, my daughter. I’ve denied her existence more times than I can count at this point. Partly because I hate myself. Partly because I don’t want to think about it. Mostly because admitting it has always just taken me to the brink of what I can handle emotionally.

Just last night I was thinking about how much like a dream that whole section of my life feels. I could almost truly believe it never happened at all if it weren’t for that picture, or for finding the occasional piece of Sarah I forgot to erase in some dark corner of the house or the internet. I want to be able to watch Eevee grow up. I want to experience it, but I know I can’t. I’m not ready emotionally, financially, psychologically… I’m just not ready yet. But I miss her. I miss her and I haven’t even gotten to really know her. And why shouldn’t I miss her? She’s my daughter, a piece of me walking (shakily) around and laughing and hopefully being curious and open-minded.

Hopefully going down a brighter path than my own…

 

Me Part 4: Misery

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that we are all very much alone. There’s some comfort to be taken in that. Knowing that you are in control of your fate (hopefully) and that technically your actions and feelings are something you control yourself is comforting in a way. At the same time though, loneliness is completely miserable. Loneliness has bred sociopaths, killers, liars, cheaters, and philosophers since human life began, and in my case, it brought back something I’d hoped never to see again…
It started out with Sarah’s pregnancy and our engagement. I tried so hard to convince myself that this was something I could handle and that I would never leave her. So many pregnancies lead to break-ups, but I loved this girl enough to stick by her side through the whole thing, I was sure of it. Consciously, I was right. Sub-consciously, I was fooling myself from the beginning. Things just began to slip. I would get angry for no reason, she would throw insults at me out of the blue, suddenly that honeymoon phase was over because we had to be responsible parents. I remember every “good time” we had after learning that she was pregnant was always shrouded over by the darkness of a previous argument, or the knowledge that one was soon to come. It was miserable. I still loved her, but I started to hate her at the same time.
It’s so difficult to describe the dynamics of a relationship like this. The best I can do is to compare Sarah’s pregnancy to marriage, it was like a label telling us that the fun and games were over. But I was 18, and she a year younger, and we weren’t prepared for that. It resulted in some of the worst and most depressing fights I’ve ever been in before. I don’t know how we lasted so long. The real clincher though was after the baby was born. Seeing her face when little Rebecca was put in her arms, knowing that our relationship was over. And there was Fred, again. At the worst possible moment he decided to show up and I lost control. I ran out of that room, tears streaming down my face. I ran and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and then I just kept walking, trying to get as lost as I possibly could and as far from that baby and that girl as I was able. And then I just sat down, my head in my arms, for what seemed like an eternity before Sarah’s parents found me and brought me back to their home.
Life, for me, became dream-like. I felt numb. I didn’t feel like a dad, I felt like a failure. My father had practically disowned me, and my mother (bless her heart) was disappointed beyond what I thought I could bear. I was disappointed in myself. Fred was constantly tormenting me, having the time of his life because he’d known all along it would never last. He was right. He’s always right. Loneliness would always rule my life from that point on, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The day Sarah and I broke up, I think a little piece of me died. I haven’t ever been able to get it back.