mychai's Diaryland Diary

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A deep analization over the past several days. --OR-- JP is one messed up mofo.

Hey, guys. I'm back from my mental breakdown. Luckily, I didn't run around naked. That would have gotten me into trouble for sure.

That was the first time I had ever done such a thing, mind you. On Monday, my mind went into total overload and pretty much autopilot. It needed to shut down and, basically, reboot. That it did. Details of the evening have been trickling in, mostly from the people who came in to talk to me while I mumbled stupid crap back. Brooke spent the evening taking care of my sorry butt. I woke up with a pot full of puke beside my bed. Mmmmmm!

I wasn't hung over when I finally woke up. My neck hurt from throwing up so much and so hard, but that was the only real negative effects other to my self worth. I hated that some of those dearest to me had to see me in such a terrible condition.

Even though I was a little embarrassed, I felt better. My mind was able to think after about eight or nine hours of good, hard, thoughtless sleep, and I was able to sort through some things immediately afterward. That was the last long stretch of sleep I've had since then, though, so I am almost back to where I was. But no worries. I have no desire to hurt myself again.


What things did I sort through? I thought of deeply ingrained, baseless beliefs that, over the years, have become a reality to me. Some questions posed by the Dawn of Terra really made me think.

Why do the thoughts and opinions of those who have known and loved me for years -- through good and bad, thick and thin -- seemingly not matter as much as this person I have known for a couple of months?

Damn good question. It is one I don't have a good response to, though I wish I did. Without trying to sound like I am fishing for words of encouragement or claiming "whoa is me", I have come to believe over the past five or six years that I am incapable of giving or deserving love. That anyone who said they loved me, deep down, really only wanted something.

Maybe it is the effect of ten years of medicated depression. Maybe it is just me being fucked up in the head. I wish I knew why I feel this way, but I believe it, and that is that.

Don't get me wrong. I love my dog Daisy. I love my Mom, Dad, and Sister. I love my dearest friends who have been loyal and true to me. But I think that's all I feel. I don't know if I have ever really, truly been in love.

Now, take that feeling, belief, whathaveyou, and toss in what I felt last week when I first found out the news that I was going to be a father.

There was instantaneous reaction that I can only describe as pure, raw animal paternal instinct. It was a need to be there for every second of my new one's life, no matter how small he/she was. It was a need -- a physical need -- to be there for the mom, to be the provider, the protector, the everything. I knew what to do without being told. The same way the bird knows how to build the nest or the baby knows how to cry.

Then, on Monday, after not being told anything, and, in fact, being told to stay away, it was like this perfect little kiddo, who is supposed to instinctually love me as much as I instinctually loved it, decided I wasn't able to be loved. I was being denied by the two people who I felt were supposed to feel just as strongly about things.

That was when I had to shut down for a while.

I am still feeling the instinct thing with much intensity. And, as Terra pointed out, the feelings and instinct I have for the baby are spilling over onto Mom. I don't know what I feel other than these brand new things you can't explain until you are there. Hell, I probably hate her for putting me through hell the past week. But I can't feel that right now. I'm like Tinkerbell, so small I have only enough room for one feeling at a time.


I sent three emails to Roach yesterday saying to come by when I got off work. We had to talk. I assumed that since I didn't get anything in return, she was coming down.

No show.

I went up to the room where she and the "other guy" were sleeping. I banged real hard, turned on the hall lights, and waited. I heard her shuffling around, falling over, cursing. She opened the door.

"Sleeping?

"Ugh. Yeah," she said, squinting at the light flooding in.

"Hm. Ahem... Must be nice," I said sarcastically.

We went down the hall into a common area. And we talked. For two hours, I spilled my guts to her. She needed to know while looking into my eyes that I am dying inside. That I am not just some black-and-white email that she could just ignore.

And I gave her 48 hours to tell the "other guy" that the baby he has believed was his (although, as far along as she is and the lack of... you know... they have been having should have clued him in) is actually mine.

He will hate my guts. And who can blame him? I take at least 50% of the blame in this little situation with Roach taking the rest. I'm sure he's a nice guy. His world is about to collapse, and I actually feel sorry for him.

But if she doesn't tell him by Friday night when I get off of work, I will tell him. He needs to know. I need him to know. I want to be with this kid 100%, and I don't want some shmo taking care of my offspring. I want to corrupt his or her little mind myself.

Granted, I will probably get punched in the face by this guy. And I will deserve it. But, dammit, he needs to know. It's only fair to everyone.


So, that is where the situation sits at this second.

After I got done with my little chat with Roach, I went to see Brooke and her friend Kevin. The three of us got a big blanket and went outside and watched the meteor shower. I ended up laughing harder than I had in months.

It was that laugh where you can't breathe, where tears are just rolling down your face, where your stomach cramps. It made me feel really good.

We saw maybe five shooting stars in an hour or so. It was a dud of a meteor shower.

As I write this, I am at work. I am forecasting for the Czech Republic and Turkey. There is enough high pressure in that area of the world right now to squash an elephant. No weather is happening for at least 36 hours.

I'm worried out of my mind how Roach is handing the situation. I'm worried out of my mind whether or not she is handling the situation. I'm just worried.

And scared.

And excited.

So much so, I don't know what to do.

5:53 p.m. - Thursday, Aug. 12, 2004

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