I am (was) a Miserable Basterd
author’s note (09/13/2010): the below was written around February’ish of 2010. I was in a really, really bad spot. I had just gotten out of the hospital due to chest pains and had come to the realization that I was going to have to quit drinking b/c it was finally having long term affects on my health that I could see. A lot of my posts going forward from this point are me working through anger, denial, envy, etc, at not being able to drink anymore….and that comes out in the writing. However, I am here to tell you that if you’re suffering, IT DOES GET BETTER. It’s a bitch and one of the hardest things you’ll ever do, but keep with it, it will get better. There is clarity you will receive on the other side you can scarcely imagine.
I am a miserable basterd. (yes that’s intentional)
I have everything I’m supposed to have and love right? Good job, good wife, beautiful kids….
I take all of it for granted. The only things I want to do are ride and drink. Being on a good trail with a buzz is the top of the world.
Why is that? It should be spending time with my family or playing with my kids. It’s not. Even a bad day of riding and drinking is better than a good day with the fam. FUBAR. (really? REALLY? Oh I just think you’re saying that b/c you’re in a particularly nasty mood this morning)
Is it FUBAR because it is? Or is it FUBAR because it’s supposed to be b/c that’s what society tells you? I feel guilt because of this. When it’s good, family is great, but when it’s bad, it’s the worst. I lose my self control, and I begin to curse my blessings.
What’s the difference between crazy and disturbed? Crazy don’t know it’s crazy. At least I’m self aware. Skynet bitches. Poor people are crazy Jack, I’m eccentric.
And while we’re talking about blessings, what about God? God this, and Jesus that….God never gives you more than you can handle. Jesus died for our sins, the bible says the bible says blah blah blah. That’s all nice and good if you believe in that sort of thing. I was brought up Catholic, and since meeting my wife who is a different brand of Christian I’ve had my upbringing questioned and shattered. Oh, no one else shattered it, it was I that dun it. But seeing another view point made me question mine and shatter it. Now I’ve diverged so far out there I’m not even sure that the god of Christianity is real. I can’t reconcile science and faith. I have no faith. I shouldn’t feel this way, yet I do. Oh I believe there’s an intelligent designer out there, b/c I can’t fathom the trillions of billions of stars in the galaxy as a random happening, but I’m not sure it’s the Christian god either. I want it to be. I want there to be a point to this life, and an everlasting heaven. Why can’t I just take it on faith and go with it? Why?
Biking and drinking are my escape(s). There’s no worries. No problems. Just the buzz. But then, at the end, reality always comes crashing back in, at 6 in the morning when the boy is up and lively and rooting through the fridge leaving the door open looking for a drink then starts messing around with every fucking thing he can get his hands on. What’s gonna really suck is when the drinking finally takes its toll and I can no longer ride. When I’m fucking bedridden with a fucking bag hanging out of my ass. I didn’t sign up for this shit.
But I did. I signed up for this when I got married, I signed up for this when I came home one night after having seen the father and his boy at the Hooters and said “hey let’s have kids” finally. I just didn’t know exactly what I was signing up for. It’s like signing a contract without reading the fine print. Except there is no fine print for this. There’s just a vague statement from a coworker “your life is going to change in ways you can’t even imagine”. No shit.
That reminds me of a joke…”Two guys are in a locker room when one guy notices the other guy has a cork in his ass. He says, Hey how’d you get a cork in your ass?
The other guy says, well I was walking along the beach one day and I tripped over a lamp. There was a puff of smoke, and then a genie in a turban came oozing out. He said, I am the Genie of the lamp and I can grant you one wish. And I said…No shit!”
It’s the everyday grind that gets to me. (hey jackass, it gets to everybody else too, you’re not special). The crying and whining and struggling at school and the honeydo’s and the job that pays great that I hate and, and, and….
But I can’t/won’t walk away. As much as I bitch about it, I will not quit this. I love my wife. I love my daughter. I love my son. I love to be alone whenever I can. I love to bike. I love to drink. FUBAR.
I hate quitting. After I finally make up my mind to do something (see father/son hooters let’s have kids announcement) I stick with it. Marriage (only took her 5 years to drag me up to the altar), Kids (only another 4 to finally have our first), 11th grade basketball (I didn’t make the team, but after all that time invested to try out I still stayed on to do whatever I could).
So if you hate quitting so much then what if you die prematurely due to alcoholism and your kids are left without a dad? Isn’t that quitting? Your dad was gone a lot when you were young due to his job enough that he may as well not of been there. You want your kids growing up without a dad? No. So quit drinking. No. Loser. Yep.
I am a miserable basterd. yep. Things that are supposed to make me happy are a burden. Things that will kill me lay dearest to my heart.
You do what you have to do, to do what you want to do. I have to work. 10yrs in and prolly another 25 at least to go. For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge. God that’s so depressing. But that’s the thing, I only see the negative. I only see 25 more years of the grind. I don’t see all the good. The kids growing up and all that entails,… wait is that it? Is that all I can see? Nothing else is coming to me. That’s all I’ve got left then?
You begin to see my problem. And it’s all on me, I’m not blaming anyone else for how fucked up I am. I accept responsibility for my state. I am the cumulative sum of every choice I’ve ever made. I am a miserable basterd. and I don’t know how to fix it.