Emotional Pneumonia

I don’t always remember things very well. Short term memory is blast to hell, a mashugana kerfuffle. Now other memories, especially the bad ones, are well imprinted and vivid as shit. Lots of mundane things rush forth and occupy my mind. But the time of my father’s ill health is not crystal clear, side effects of depression and boozing it up maybe.

He had cancer, Lymphoma, some version of something type B. I sometimes forget what it’s called and the days of yore are hard to ascertain, but the feelings I had, or didn’t have rather, is there in the cranium. I felt sad and angry for sure. I tried to get time off my soul-sucking night draining job in security but the new shit shit fuck company wouldn’t allow it unless he was dying. What kind of system do we have where you can’t get time off for helping a sick parent?! I didn’t help enough anyway. Working all night and sleeping in the day was not conducive to sick watch, I didn’t even get his pills for him (your a bastard you bastard face). I was emotionally drained and weak and just… lost and angry for him and at myself because I still need him. Life, genetics and my own stupidity have given me a mess of instability. I am a hobby wobbly destitute funny man with wavering morals and kindness.

When I couldn’t get off work I was blowing up at the company on the phone. I was punching walls and screaming my lungs out at the admins, my friend was there to soothe me slightly. Good woman who took me for a song, gave her lots of money to maybe keep her house..? Oh, I had anger issues before. Misanthropic seething hate demon lashing out at odd intervals on unsuspecting white kids. I saw them all as privileged, entitled little shits who hadn’t face hard life and were so goddamn arrogant and sarcastic. Grrr I say. So fights with work, lost and alone at home, unable to comfort my family really, I had been slipping emotionally over the years, dying inside and getting numb; emotional pneumonia.

He got very weak, so many tests and retests and chemicals pumped into him. He’s a bit of a health nut, takes all kinds off “natural” things and supplements. His immune system is balls, can’t be helped much no matter how much kale you eat. He was tired, losing hair, the usual suspects. But I wasn’t really there for him like I should have been, like he was always there for me. Yeah he was absent in certain ways and didn’t teach me the things fathers are supposed to teach you, I guess, who knows how to be a father. Is a father a friend and teacher? model of behaviour? he is a good man I can say without a doubt. Where was I in that turmoil? When he was being treated the first time I was absent-minded. He was staying for a few days and lay in bed looking weak and older than I realized (I don’t always look at him enough to see how he’s aging, he thinks of me as his kid and he’s my dad, I don’t think enough about his age since he’s still active), just a tired old man fighting the sickness and foreboding darkness. I remember I was awkward with the hug, and everything else really. When I’m involved in the heated stuff and feelings game I sort of shut down and get cold, not all the time but I am not gooey inside anymore, life bitchslapped me and I consider the burn regularly. I have become the thing I hate.

Papa, abba, appa. Papi beat the boogeyman and came back swinging. He’s getting fit again, new diet, fancy naturopath doc. But I feel annoyed at myself for my lack of paternal affection. Maybe I have lingering resentment, pah, I know I do. Blame is a useless endeavour. It’s the same with the dog I had, Jake. I felt like I didn’t love him enough, didn’t do enough for him, to show I cared. My dad does so many things for his family, that’s a value he has, family is more important, more than pride I dunno, that’s his baggage and I ain’t no concierge. But I am a grower not a shower, I make amends eventually and strive to better myself and evolve my being. I battle my demons and try not to lash out at those close to me anymore. I make myself think of them more and actually do something instead of well wishes and glory daydreams. Though I should do more for him. He’s retired and lonely and I don’t talk to him enough. It can be annoying because he can be pedantic and wants to talk a lot with less listening, but that’s always how he was and I am becoming him in a certain way; I wish to express myself not dominate conversation. These blogs may help my personal foibles and need for unleashing brain farts and expel the loquacious urges. The sins of the father must be handled by the son, we owe him that much.

I have no clue what life would be when he’s gone. I dread being alone though I like it at the same time. Things just get too boring and stressy, my mind is an enemy in wooden horses. I am not afraid of death yet I don’t deal with death well. I feel saddened that the time for my parents will come and I think no one is ready for it no matter what age. Loss is a big number to dance to. I can’t cha cha for the life of me but I’ll swing away. Alas I must try, always try to do what is hard. If anything it’ll be less work in the future after you’ve made the dent, of course there’s no insurance once the damage is done. Life has no insurance. We trick ourselves to deal with the steady flow of horrorshow pressure tanks falling down on us but we know the score. Chaos and disarray are our card deck, unless your a fatalist, filthy fatalist scum! I am resolute in my grainy resolution. You keep your HD, I’m accepting my humble quality and picturing a quiet, contemplative life pastoral in its vision. If I cannot feel love anymore at least I can reach for peace of mind.

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