The First Dad Post

I used to be convinced that my father wasn’t capable of being vulnerable without alcohol. 

When I was younger, I would batter my mother with desperate pleas, begging her “Please, please, please fucking understand me! Please - I need your empathy, your compassion, I need you specifically to understand me” until I ran out of air.

My father though? God I never even really tried.

It’s Been Tough Lately

"It's fine. I just need to let some stuff out. I'll be fine again after this." It's always the same thought pattern, you know. I wonder sometimes if I think this way because I'm too naive to recognize when I need more than a 5-minute cigarette break, or because I've gotten quite hopeful over this past decade of dealing with my less-than-ideal brain. Either way, it keeps biting me in the ass. I keep thinking if I do these small tasks, I'll be back to normal again—you know, whatever my "normal" may be. But it's never that easy. The roadmap keeps changing, and I'm getting a bit burnt out trying to figure it out each time.

A Somber Note

Emails and letters are a lost art. Messaging is so instantaneous now, and that has its own perks but for someone like me, who likes to reminisce with "artifacts" from the past, long-form letters are still king. I like both the act of writing and re-reading them, feeling like my very own historian. (Peak narcissism, sure.)