I don’t have a therapist. Lord knows I need one. We could probably bill a whole year’s worth of sessions around the contents of this blog alone, and that’s just the stuff that I’m comfortable sharing with Dr Internet. Publicly talking to myself in cyberspace is probably one of the least efficient and/or effective ways to manage mental health but it’s the only coverage offered by my $Free.99 insurance plan. Fuck yo couch, America!
I can’t describe the heartache and disappointment I feel at my daughter’s decision to leave. I can compartmentalize and compact the anger and the betrayal. I can empathize (to the best of my ability) for my Kid’s pain and suffering. I can even forgive her complete rejection of my presence from her life in the same way I must forgive myself for failing to connect with her as a father. But I can’t do anything with this heartache and disappointment except find a way to live with it. I love that little idiot child of mine in all her brokenhearted, stubborn glory. So what choice do I have but to somehow find a way to accept things and move on, for her sake… That way, if she ever opens that door again, she will find a loving father and not a broken old man.
So I took the advice of my homie Reynold. He has a daughter who is a few years older than my Kid and he went through an eerily similar situation with her when she was a teenager. He suggested tough love: don’t chase or beg, don’t combat or indulge her antagonistic behavior, just go about my business and let her do things her way. At first, that was a hard pass. It seemed like exactly what she wanted which made me feel like I’d be giving in to the whims of a child. Not to mention, it’d only be tough on me and my love. She couldn’t care less–she’s a teenager! But after about a week (or two) of incomparable melancholy, I became disgusted with myself. Depression is not a good look on me, and while at times my pain can be beautiful and tragic like Shakespearean theater, it’s mostly just intense and intimidating (even to me). So holding onto the belief that I am a good man, harboring no shame at trying my best, accepting that we [The Kid & I] were never given a fair shake and things went inconceivably awry, and admitting that sometimes love means letting go, I’ll make a Reynold’s wrap of this big ball of shit circumstances, et voila–a silver lining!
Home nudity. Been doing a lot of that. God I missed wang-hanging around the home! Not only is it comfortable and liberating but it’s saving me pennies on laundry costs! Also, The internet. So helpful. With all the extra bandwidth from a home sans teen, now my streaming platforms only buffer when it’s AT&T fucking up! I was never big on binge watching TV before this Kiddemic but it’s a skill that I’m learning to love without all the anxiety in my free-time from trying to be the perfect father. Which reminds me… anxiety-free masturbation. So clutch. 🙏🏾
Oh, VideoGameGods, I need a girlfriend! I suppose I don’t have the excuse of being a single father, which was always a weak argument but no one would dare dispute it on account of its nobility. The truth is, I’m afraid to date. Even if the whole process were not exhausting, which it most definitely is (the older you get), I know that my ego is too fragile at present to endure the disappointment of casual dating. Nevertheless. I remodeled the whole apartment in a style that would afford me the privacy and possibility for dating. The Kid’s quarters are now a badass studio-style dorm room. If it weren’t so depressing, I would actually like to hang out in there. Maybe I’ll throw a Bachelor Party… Wait, that’s already a thing. And it’d just be confusing to throw a Party-As-A-Bachelor Party… confusing… AND AWESOME!!!!
Now where can I find some attendees. What do you call them? Oh yea, friends! Honestly, that could take some time. Perhaps we should just Field of Dreams it. I mean, it worked in college…