lowquality.net

This is an incom­plete blog that I have found dif­fi­cult to finish.

I have spent such a long time con­struct­ing my life and my out­look on life around this belief that I was miss­ing some essen­tial ingre­di­ent to my child­hood that would have made things “all bet­ter.” Some­how my par­ents divorce is bur­rowed at the cen­ter of this belief. I think I have believed this for so long that I was not even con­sciously aware of it until rel­a­tively recently in my life.

Surely, there are some skills that I lack that it seems my friends do not. I do not know how to enact changes in my life, I do not know how to orga­nize my life, I do not know how to improve my out­look on life and I do not know how to take care of myself in many sit­u­a­tions. I have had a chip on my shoul­der for so long, that I don’t even know what it would be like to be rid of it.

When finally con­fronted with the voice of my father, instead of focus­ing all of this angst at a per­son– angst which has molded and shaped my per­son­al­ity to the point that I can­not imag­ine myself with­out it– I felt like I was talk­ing to a coworker or a friendly acquain­tance. I felt pity for him, not only for his recent loss, but for the gen­eral vibe of depres­sion that seems to sur­round him. I never expected to feel sorry for him. While I didn’t expect that he would sud­denly become a brain sur­geon, I didn’t think he’d be in such bad shape– I didn’t think about him at all. Not as a per­son. Not as some­one still liv­ing and breath­ing. To say I hadn’t any con­tact with my dad for 22 years is like say­ing I never saw Drac­ula in 22 years. He was an idea, an image, and, right or wrong, the con­cen­trated pro­jec­tion of all of the mis­takes I’ve made in my life.

I’ve grown up as a result of these feel­ings. My per­son­al­ity, my sense of humor, and my ten­dency towards intro­ver­sion, which has led me to pur­sue both musi­cian­ship, writ­ing, and a career in the IT field, are all results of this early expe­ri­ence. I used to think of all of these things as very com­pli­cated defense mech­a­nisms: ways to avoid con­fronta­tion, close­ness, and any kind of con­nect­ed­ness to other kids my own age. I see things a lit­tle dif­fer­ently now.

I thought my life was a mess because of the scars result­ing from my par­ents divorce and my father’s lack of involve­ment. Now I know its not true. I feel hor­ri­ble admit­ting that my life has really been bet­ter off this way. I guess I see things dif­fer­ently because, now, I have had some expe­ri­ence with addicts and I under­stand the nature of addic­tion. Still, I guess my per­spec­tive on my father’s alco­holism is still frozen in time as a 6 year old. I still don’t under­stand why he didn’t get his act together, before or after the divorce.

My mother would not have sur­vived in that lifestyle, I would not have the friends that I have. I might have become involved in music, but there is no way I could have attended Berklee. Things are what they are. I can’t change them. I can’t change the deci­sions my dad made, or didn’t make or should have made.

I am not six years old anymore.