“Someone once said that life prepares you for what it throws at you.
Man O’ fuck! That’s a very wise and comforting thought for coping.
But what kind of a bastard would I have to be to be prepared for the death of my son? Especially from my own hand.
So I refuse to be prepared, I’ll accept the fucking pain.
…The madness is a comfort!
I don’t want to think straight. I don’t want to be able to concentrate. I refuse to cope. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about it.
She’s left me. Who’d blame her? She hasn’t said that it’s over but I know it is. It has to be. She’ll hate me until the day she dies. There’s no point her seeing my face every day.
…My side of the family come round to see how I’m doing. Nice of them really. The conversation is a bit tricky.
How are you doing?
Awful…Thanks for asking!
But it’s worse the couple of times I have bumped into her parents. All they ask is, What were you thinking?
I sure as fuck wasn’t thinking what happened would have happened. If I had been, I hope, I mean I really fucking hope that I wouldn’t have done it.
I shake my head and apologise yet again. They shake their heads, tut and cry again. That doesn’t help me but fuck them, they’ve just lost. I have caused and lost. Trust me, there is a whole lot of difference. Their feelings aren’t in the same of my fucked-upness.
I’ve the cheek still to be drinking. I’m judged for that. I deserve the judgement. But at the time, if I’d been drinking, I wouldn’t have been driving. But I’d been sleeping after drinking. You were late for school and asked me for a lift. I told you to skip it but you had a test coming up so I drove. I don’t want to think about the rest.
…The lawyer says that it could go either way. Because of my loss, the Judge might go easy on me. But because of what I did, he may not be so lenient.
I don’t give a fuck. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, nothing will change. My fucking brain won’t shut up about it.
I didn’t even have the decency to get crippled – Not a fucking scratch.
No sincere or sanctimonious bastard needs to tell me what I’ve done.
…I know with bells on.
I don’t think I’d ever considered that I was capable of causing so much hurt.
When it’s not intended, you don’t truly understand the tsunami of shite and pain you can cause by simply not expecting anything other than what you set out to do.
And that’s not me looking for any form of pity. Fuck no!! I can handle the anger and the hate. I need the pain but I can’t handle any pity or understanding.
What’s the point?
…I say the same shite after about the same amount of booze every night. I get angrier and drink quicker but EVERY FUCKING TIME I mention someone having any pity for me, I break down! What the fuck is that all about it?
…It shouldn’t bother me. It’s not an issue. It’s not even a consideration. There’s no-one who will ever pity me.
And fuck that! It’s not about me.
I can only tell you every night, I miss you.
I don’t deserve to say I love you.
…I’m toasting you with the whisky that killed you.
…I’m so sorry Paul.”
Image – Pixabay