Daily Archives: 09/08/2010

Crashing Down

Right now — right at 7:24 a.m. on Sept. 8, 2010 — I don’t want to have another child. To be totally honest, I don’t even want the one I have.

Will has been extra infuriating lately. But worse than that, his onslaught of awful behavior has coincided with the complete departure of my patience. Any parent will tell you that’s not a good combination. In fact, I sit here today — my day off — just minutes removed from an episode that has me seriously considering running away.

I woke Will up to get him dressed for daycare, but he was having none of it. He threw a particularly nasty hissy fit. I tried to distract him, redirect him and deflect the negative behavior to something positive. All the Parenting 101 bullshit. Just made it worse. So then I just decided to grit my teeth and get through it. Besides, he’d be gone soon and I could finally sleep in for a little while.

That’s when he kicked me in the face.

Make no mistake, it wasn’t an accident. He had been kicking before and we have a firm no hitting/kicking rule. But as I reached down to try and get his undies on, he looked me square in the eye and screamed “NO DADA!” and then caught me with his heel.

In our house, after you’ve been repeatedly warned, that earns you a bare ass spanking, which he received.

Then he asked to get dressed on our bed. Thinking a compromise would make things easier, I granted him the wish. But he continued to be difficult and not let me get him dressed, all the while screaming and shrieking like a mental patient. I left him on the bed for a minute to go into his room to get his Buzz Lightyear underwear, thinking maybe he’d be more willing to get dressed if it was his favorite character. But when I came back in the room, I lost my mind.

Will was standing on the bed naked. And when I looked down at our pillows, I realized he had pissed all over them. I’m not kidding. He actually stood up, took aim and pissed all over our pillows and our bed. And, it being his morning evacuation, he peed a ton.

I can’t describe the level or intensity of rage that filled my body at that precise moment. But it was nothing compared to what happened next, as he proceeded to punch me square in the nose when I got close to him and asked him why he did it.

In the span of 3 minutes he had purposefully hit me twice in the face, and urinated on the place we put our heads down to sleep. And right then, I hated him. Loathed him. Wanted nothing to do with him. Longed to run far away to a place I wasn’t his father and didn’t have to put up with his shit.

And here’s the kicker.

It’s not like I can just put everything in the wash. Our washing machine died on Sunday. And it’s not as if I can run out and buy a washing machine, because we have no money. In fact, we have less than no money. We’re at a point now where we’d love to declare bankruptcy. The only problem is we can’t afford it. Do you not just love the irony there? Seriously. I don’t have the money to be bankrupt! Because of course it makes sense that financially destitute people need to come up with a few thousand dollars just to tell everyone else they can’t pay their bills. That sounds like sound reasoning to me. How about you???

I mean, I thought I had the money. I have thousands in my 401k. But fuck me for not reading the fine print. Because I already have a loan out against my retirement funds and I just assumed I could take out another one in case of an emergency. Since, you know, it’s my fucking money. But that’d make too much sense. Instead, they tell me I can only have one personal loan out at a time. But I can do a hardship loan, they say. Great. I definitely fit the bill with that, right? Wrong. I can only take out money for a hardship if I’m in the eviction/foreclosure process, if I’m trying to pay for college tuition or if someone dies and I need money for a funeral. Nevermind the fact that foreclosure will be imminent down the road if some of these bills don’t get paid, the rule is if I’m not in the foreclosure process now I’m shit out of luck. And once again, the system shits on anyone who looks down the road and tries to proactively stave off trouble.

I work as much overtime as I can. MJ works her ass off too. Yet here I sit in a condo that owns me. Surrounded by bills I can’t pay. Taunted by the allure of a way out that I can’t afford, even though my own money is sitting just out of reach in an account I can’t access. My kid is punching me in the face. My sheets and pillows are drenched in piss, reeking on the floor because my washing machine is broken and I can’t afford a new one.

And now I realize that losing Alexandra was a blessing in disguise. I can’t even provide for the kid I have now. Hell, I haven’t even been able to spend enough time with my dog lately. Bringing a baby into this unholy hell that is our life may have been considered cruel and unusual punishment.

Do I sound a little dark today? A little unbalanced? Do I have that teetering on the edge of a chaotic abyss thing going for me? Sure. I’ll buy that.

I’m not the man, husband or father I should be. I can’t provide for my family. I’ve borrowed god only knows how much from the generous people in my life, and absolutely refuse to ask for more. The gastrointestinal pain that sent me to the ER last year is back in force, which coincidentally is the last time I was this stressed out and leads me to believe I probably have some sort of ulcer. I’m the heaviest I’ve ever been because since I can’t smoke or drink my problems away, I’ve decided to eat them. And I’m not nearly over the loss of my unborn daughter, but absolutely refuse to see or talk to anyone in the professional realm about that because admitting that I see a counselor absolutely would push me over the edge.

This post has been a long time coming. I’ve written it and deleted several times over the past month or so, opting instead for some funny anecdote about daily life. It’s the first time in my blogging career that I haven’t been honest with you for fear of how it makes me look. But as I’m sitting in my house that I’m upside down on, reeking of piss from sheets I can’t wash due to a broken washer I can’t afford to replace, I don’t really see any reason to continue putting on heirs.

And if you leave a comment, don’t tell me where I can find a cheap washer or any of that crap. No offense, but I’m excellent at ferreting out deals on the Internet. I don’t need help there. And don’t tell me you’re thinking of us or say “if there’s anything you need…” Don’t get me wrong, it’s sweet and I appreciate it but I’m not writing this to garner pity. If you want to comment, tell me you’ve been there before and come through it. Or tell me if you didn’t, and life chewed you up and spit you out. Either way just be real. Be honest.

Because right now honesty is about the only thing I do still have.

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