It’s been a while since I posted.
I spent as much time as I could with my boys over the summer.
Now they’re in school.
I still spend as much time with them as I can. I see them every day. It’s not as much as before, though. Obviously.
It’s a lot more than most guys in my position, though.
A couple of weeks ago we moved out of our apartment.
I’m staying at my mom’s house. Living in the basement.
My wife and kids are living with her parents.
I’ve been spending most of my waking hours with my boys. I miss living with them, but I’m glad I get to be with them so much.
It’s more than most separated/divorced dads get.
I hate moving.
I started moving stuff as soon as I could. I didn’t want to be scrambling at the last minute.
Moving my things hasn’t affected my emotions.
A few days ago my wife had my kids start packing, though.
That got to me.
My boys they were oblivious. “Dad, can you tape this box for me?”
It made it real for me.
The Buddhist concept of compassion includes compassion for yourself.
How can someone have compassion for others if they don’t have compassion for themselves?
You’re on a plane. The oxygen masks drop.
Put yours on first.
This is vital.
Even if you have your children with you. Your beloved. Your sick grandmother.
If you pass out while trying to put their oxygen mask on them, who have you helped?
Make sure your needs are being met. Don’t feel guilty about caring for yourself. How can you help others if you have no energy?
How can you give something you don’t have?
Last week my older son had a bad day at school.
He got into a fight at recess.
Then he kicked a soccer ball. It hit a teacher in the back. The teacher yelled at him.
He started crying.
The teacher apologized.
My son said he hated himself.
It spiraled down from there.
He’s such a sweet boy.
If anyone should have self-compassion, it’s him.
My five-year-old sleeps in my wife’s bed. He has for a few months now.
He goes to sleep a lot earlier than she does.
He always wants someone to be with him.
My wife is usually busy with homework.
I don’t mind laying down with him. Most nights that’s what I do.
The other night I was laying down with him. I was rubbing his hair.
My mind kept wandering. I reminded myself that my time with my boys is short. I tried to stay focused on being with him.
I realized there wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be right then.
What better place could there be?
It’s a weird situation.
My wife told me almost six months ago she wants a divorce.
She was thinking about it a long time before that.
We still live together. We sleep in different rooms.
She hasn’t filed for divorce yet. She talks about it occasionally, though.
I’m not really in a hurry. I just wish I knew for sure what was going on.
I still think the world of her.
She has plenty of flaws. I’m sure she knows that better than I do.
She wanted to be with me when I could barely support myself.
She was supportive of me when I was laid off and couldn’t find another job.
She worked to support our family so I could go to college.
She forgave me the first time I told her I’d been lying to her and that I was addicted to porn.
She stayed with me when I told her I wasn’t going to finish my degree.
Best of all, she’s given me two sweet, wonderful little boys.
I hate that I hurt her. Again.
It hurts me to lose her.
Whatever happens though, I want her to be happy.
It’s my boys I worry about.
I’ve never been divorced before. Neither has my wife. But we’ve both been though painful breakups before and come out okay. We’ll both be okay this time, too.
My boys grow up in an intact home. Now that’s not going to happen for them.
I worry how their parents’ divorce will affect their ability to have good marriages of their own.
I worry about not being around to protect them. They’re not big enough to defend themselves against an adult.
I worry that if I’m not with them every day if will hurt our relationship. Will we be as close as we are now? Will we drift apart?
I worry about so many things.
Worrying won’t solve anything. All I can do at this point is the best I can.
I just wish it was better.
A lot of people know that Ernest Hemingway killed himself.
Not as many people know that his father also killed himself.
So did his son.
Many times the children of people who commit suicide go on to commit suicide themselves. That’s not what I want for my boys.
I love this comic by LunarBaboon.
I know my kids need me.
I grew up without a dad. I don’t want my kids to have to go through that.
I want to see them grow up and have kids of their own.
I want to give them the best life I can.
I can’t do that if I’m dead.
I try to be optimistic. I tell myself the future can be better than the present.
Sometimes it’s hard though.
Yesterday morning I was watching old family videos.
Wife and kids happy.
Now it’s coming to an end. That makes me feel depressed.
I wish I could go back and fix it. But I can’t.
I used to think about killing myself a lot. I’d have a fight with my wife and think “I can’t take this anymore!”
I rarely have those thoughts anymore. They still show up occasionally, though.
Therapy helps. Anti-depressants help. Thinking about how I can improve helps.
I still get depressed.
I don’t want to get divorced. It doesn’t seem like I have a choice, though.
But I can’t give up on life.