Some may wonder why I’d rather be dead.
The answer is simple.
There is no point to my life.
Where is the point when I have no friends because I can’t keep any? No one’s willing to stick with me through my stormy seasons. Can’t say I blame them.
Where is there a point when I’m married to someone who’s barely my friend? How can we live together for the rest of our lives when we can’t even have a conversation? And I don’t mean because it’ll turn into an argument. I mean because we have nothing to talk about. We have no common interests and completely different ideas about what’s important. The only reason we’re married is because I got knocked up and I promised my baby that she would not grow up without her dad. And the only reason we’ve not split up is because she’s only 6 years old. We’ll probably be in separate bedrooms by the time she’s 18.
Where is there a point when my 2 sons, despite my having raised them by myself for most of their lives, despite all I’ve sacrificed for them, would rather be with their dad, who spends most of his off time drinking beer?
Where is the point?
Quite honestly, the reason I never killed myself years ago was because of my sons. I didn’t want them to ever think I didn’t love them enough to stick around. But it seems like they wouldn’t care if I was or wasn’t.
I guess it’s a good thing I have my daughter. She’s 6 years old and tells me I’m the best mommy in the world and how much she loves me. But she’s only 6. I know it’s only going to be a few short years from now when I’ll go from being her hero to being the stupid, useless idiot her brothers think I am.
So where is the point?
Growing up much too quickly, that’s where.