So this is what it's like to be me. I can't believe I forgot how much of a roller coaster ride my emotional states can be. Everything is tragic yet sublime, horrible, yet so damn beautiful.
Was I right to trade my medicated numbness back in for the unbearable din and confusion of the insanity known as my mind?
I tell my son that he doesn't have to love me, that I just want him to listen and learn so that he can avoid the pitfalls that I so heartily enjoyed in my youth. My youth, my young adulthood, my 30s, now my 40s, and so on, and so on.
I want him to love his mother.
As for my part, all I can do is to try and live up to my vow to him that I will never treat him the way my father did me; that I will never betray him and lie to him without a shred of an apology.
When I see him I see myself looking at my own father. I can't help but expect the worst. I hated my father from an early age, and can't help but assume that those seeds are germinating in his mind as well.
I see echoes of my father in myself so I can't blame him if he daydreams about impaling my skull, watching without blinking, flinching, or regretting as the life slowly fade from my eyes.
If he loves me it is because he is a fool.
I am NOT to be loved. If I am to be known at all I am to be heeded. Otherwise I have neither purpose nor function.
Who am I kidding? There is no such thing as purpose, and function is nothing more than a byproduct of consequence.
I fuck, therefore I father.