I appreciate the kind words from those of you who commented on my post the other day. I was going to respond to each one individually, but decided to lump them together into a small post. Although I appreciated these words, I must say I am not worthy of such encouragement. My son’s picture still sits on my desk, and I can see him judging me every moment of the day. I see his perfect smile and sense it is somehow fake. The same fake smile I had to put on my face in the name of school pictures. Just to show the world you are happy when in reality you are broken inside. What he is feeling behind that smile is tearing me apart. I am sick to my stomach and want to throw this picture off my desk, and hide behind my wall of lies and justifications. I cannot bring myself to do this. I feel this symbolically degrades him as a human being.

I received some advice from Rambling to sit my kids down and ask them their assessment of me as a father. I am far too much of a coward to ever do this. I am afraid to honestly hear what they think, because the answers I will hear will further cause me to look in the mirror of my true self. The one thing I hate more than anything is my reflection in the mirror. To see who is peering back at me is to much to handle. Everything and everyone I hate is in those eyes.

My kids are the perfect reflection of what I will never become. What kind of person am I who taints that reflection with my imperfections? I wish I could just flip a switch and shed this skin of mine and walk out a new person. What is my purpose in life if all I do is fail those who depend on me the most? I tried speaking to my therapist last night about this haunting picture, and it only made the pain that much more real. I am being tormented by this reality. The one thing I promised to myself was if I ever had children I would not fail them. I vowed to not make the mistakes my father and step-father made. I hated them so very much I could not imagine doing my kids like that. Flash forward to the here and now, and they are my reflection. This reflection I despise so.

My wife always tells me I am a good dad or a good husband when I want to be. If this is true, then why am I not this good father and husband the majority of the time? I would say I am a good father and husband 5% of the time. Does this mean I am willfully choosing to be a fucking prick 95% of the time? If I have this choice then why do I choose to let everyone down? If this was so simple then why am I not what I wish to be? I wrote a poem called “Broken Dolls” in this poem I said “broken dolls from broken homes, build broken homes of their own.” Am I building the very same broken home I hated my parents for creating?

I am a shitty person. I am an addict, I am a cheater. I never have, nor will I ever be a good person. Everything I touch, everything I love turns to shit. The last thing I can deal with is knowing I am decaying my children’s innocence with my shit stained hands. I think the thing that is most fucked up is I have the power to change this, yet I choose not to. This I think illustrates who I truly am inside.

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Comments
  1. johanna says:

    Tim, St. Paul wrote in Romans 7:15 “For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”

    What you struggle with is the struggle of all human beings. We are of a fallen nature and can only persevere and as I said earlier, get up and try again and again.

  2. johanna says:

    PS. It is actually a form of pride to think you are worse and more sinful than everyone else. You are not unique in your failures.

  3. Expressmom says:

    ………My son’s picture still sits on my desk, and I can see him judging me every moment of the day. I see his perfect smile and sense it is somehow fake…….

    Dude, you are awesome, you can READ minds!!!!
    How do you know what your son is thinking in that picture?
    Maybe he is thinking, “This guy taking my photo is a weirdo! I wish my dad was the photographer so I could give a genuine smile!”

    Okay, you’re a screamer, get over it. My mom was a screamer, and a swearer, and a plate thrower…. I love her. She was slightly nuts, especially when we annoyed her. Now that I am adult she lives in my house. I am happy to be able to take care of her.

    Admitting you shout too much is only half the battle. Just keep working on improving. Beating yourself up over it is not productive. Learning to walk away instead of shouting is productive. And do you pat yourself on the back when you succeed or only kick yourself when you screw up?

    • Tim Lundmark says:

      Express,
      Welcome. I do not pat myself on the back very much, but I am an expert in cutting myself down. I am in therapy for this and a wide array of other issues. I have not wriiten personal posts in awhile. My words are the only thing that brings me relief. I dont know what he is thinking, that is what my therapist says. I need to stop the self loathing, but that is my only comfort

    • Tim Lundmark says:

      Express,

      Being a yeller reminds me of how I felt in my youth and to know I am potentially doing to my children makes me a bad person.

  4. gail says:

    Johanna…..WORD!

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