Thursday, December 10, 2009

Spirit Tracks

Hey Paul,


There are days when i am lost within the bubble of everyday life and perception. A day turns into a block of tv shows, meals and routines. Existance without substistent substance. It is only when i take myself out of this bubble, that i realize how much time has passed. 5 years can feel like 5 months when nothing changes. If you want to slow time, do nothing at all. You can turn 20 minutes into an hour by staring at a wall. But time has worth, much like everything we have- the phrase "time well spent" implies I bought something. Like many have commented upon before, we spend time, much like any limited resource. If I have this currency of value, my time, I want something out of it. We go on vacations, go see movies, visit our families, go for walks and hikes all to serve our need to fill our time with something of value to us. When we will fill our lives to the fullest, time has a tendency to speed up. I find that when I am able to accomplish everything i want in one day, I often wonder where the rest of the day went.

I want to leave some tracks behind. I want to be able to look back and see every place I have set foot. I want a sense of fullfillment from a life well spent. These past months, as I watch my son grow from a new born to an 11 month old, I can see some tracks. There are days I am worn to the bone, ramshackled to my bed in a whispery heap. There are frustrations that blend my mind into racing thouughts that keep me sleepless. I watch as my friends I used to hang with mold successful careers sprinkled with new toys and world travels. I feel my footprint is so small in comparison. I have no career, nothing that screams my outwardly success to others. I live in a small house, drive the same car i drove almost 10 years ago. Yet, I feel like i have grown inside, in a way I could never appreciate before. My son has given me complete selflessness. Bug, when i close my eyes, I see our spirit tracks lining the floor where i saw you first stand up. I see our tracks around the kitchen where we make complete messes and find new adventures in the form of carrots, green beans and pears. We leave them everywhere we go, on every expression you give. When you smile at me I feel successful, if just in that moment. You are my joy. I love you.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

smile

Hey Paul,

Its me again. There are days i want to sit in a dark room and cry all day by myself. The slits in blinds that drape the windows pool sunlight across the room, revealing the clouds of dust in the air. I should clean this house, wash the dishes that stack up in the sink. There are times that i cant believe this is my life.

The joy of my son is absolute. He is the most perfect boy i have ever seen. He has four teeth on the bottom, and is now working on two on top. He is very proud of them, and shows them off often.

The self hate i have inside reflects years of torment in the mirror. There are so many times i have wished i was more than i am. Wasting away at the seams. I want to be the father bug deserves, the husband my wife deserves. I see myself, in the same shirt i wore yesterday- the growing scraggle of beard, the growing flank of hair. the smile. As i kid i would stand and smile at myself in the mirror, sometimes i catch myself still doing it. There are days i want to run away. disappear. What kind of man thinks these thoughts?

I want to anonymous, a ridiculous thought as i am as anonymous as there is. I don't socialize, I dont have many friends. I have things i want to say, but i am afraid to write them. it feels like i am opening an impossible door. Why is it so hard to have this conversation with myself?

I am so insecure. I want to be a good man. I want confidence. In highschool i was popular, good looking. I look back now and wonder where it went. I want to be who my son thinks i am. I feel like i am rambling, yet i keep typing whatever falls out of my fingers. I hope my next post is more coherent.

Paul, you would be proud to know that i am teaching my son how to play music. I take out my guitar and let him pull on the strings as i change chords. its wonderful. He makes me so happy. I feel like i am going to cry, i am not sure what is wrong with me. I hope he doesnt turn out like me.

an introduction, a welcome. a confession, an open letter

I welcome myself, my internal audience, to this blog. An outlet.

A few things before we begin- spelling errors are sure to sprinkle the text, treasure them. I am writing this for myself in hopes of self help, healing and understanding. I hope i am able to find whatever I am looking for.

It is cold here, my fingers are numb at the tips as i clack the keys on my wife's aging laptop. She is a school teacher, 1st grade 3rd year. During the day I watch our 11 month old son, bug,- as i call him. it is journey that has given me great insights, joy and anxiety. Bug is the center of my world, he is every hope i dream every happiness i feel. I have no blood relatives, so he is the closest I will ever see of my birth family. I have these feelings,of cloud that storms to a bright morning. A depression perhaps, or a lull.

There are days when I dont leave a single room of the house. I have created a nest of sorts with everything i need to get me through the day within arms reach. Bottles, mum mums, diapers, wipes, food. This has happened as a consequence of an anxiety attack i suffered. I remember feeling as if i couldnt breath, my heart racing- pounding in my ear. I feel a sharp tinge in my belly as grab my wife in panic. She tries to calm me down, as I repeat "I dont feel well" over and over. A terrifying experience. One that i am all too familiar with. While i was in college, i suffered my first panic attack after staying up all night finishing a history paper. I was on the bus to school, when i realized my hands were tingling. I tried to slow my racing heart with breathing, which only made things worse. I ended up being taken by ambulance to the hospital after I scared the bus driver with my panic. Once I arrived and was met with a curiously long haired middle aged doctor, I was told to hold my breath. After seven minutes of holding my breath-with some looks of amazement and the off comments about being a swimmer by the nurse- they told me to exhale. I was asked by the doctor- "What is your major?"
"History" I replied slumping into the reclined hospital bed.
"You know what they say about history?" "Those who don't learn it, are doomed to repeat it."
The doctor shrugged me off to attend more important and pressing issues. I had no one to pick me up, I didnt want friends to know what had happened. Later, I saw the doctor as i was leaving to be picked up by a school taxi. I waved and smiled, he looked away and continued on. Looking back, I dont know what i find more odd, the fact that I waved and smiled or his utter dismissal of me.

So, here I am repeating history. I have anxiety every day. Every day i think my heart is racing too fast,and my hands get cold. I find that I worry about everything. I feel that fear is controlling so much of my life. I hardly go anywhere anymore. The times I go out, to the grocery store or for eating out I am met with crippling embarassing panic attacks. The thought of leaving the house is met with anxiety. It is no way to live. I have been offered help by a family member in the form of anti anxiety medication. Part of me wants an easy to swallow pill to fix whatever imbalance i am dealing with. Another part, a stronger/stuborn part, tells me to conquor this and learn on my own.

I feel pathetic. I feel as if my wife views me as this pathetic lathargic man who is too scared to leave his own home. Fortunetly these are only my projections of feelings upon her. She has never judged me, whether its my steady weight gain (from a thin college boyfriend to an overweight husband) to my anxiety. She has always been there. I wish my own insecurities didnt cover my perception of her love for me.

There is so much i want to say, so much i want to let out. I hope this outlet helps me, if only for the moments i clack the keys. Since I have noone to talk to, blog, you will be my constant companion. I had a grandfather I never knew, who died months after i was born, named Paul. From this point forward I will be writing to you, lonely blog, as Paul. Its good to hear from you again.