My dark place
After long work weeks, tending to my daughter, helping with homework, driving to all her extracurricular activities, paying bills and generally running a tight (household) ship, I have very little time and energy left. I use our weekends to recharge by doing things we both enjoy. And when my daughter is at her mom’s, I get extra time to unwind and pursue my own hobbies (but nowadays, it’s mostly sleeping-in, catching up on episodic TV or maybe an occasional chapter of a book over a cup of tea). It’s a delicate balance of energy expenditure and recharge—until something that disturbs that equilibrium. I’m not talking about minor mishap like a stalled car under a highway overpass during rush hour (which really did happen to me!) For me, what throws me off balance are events that are profoundly disruptive and entirely out of my control to prevent or fix.
Of the two major stressors in my life right now, by far the smaller one is my ex’s ceaseless pettiness. My ex’s interference with me and my daughter’s life is beyond vexing. I am not angry about it; I’ve reached a point where I feel sorry for the mother. I chalk it up as a narcissistic co-parent with sociopathic tendencies who has blindly loss control of everything. Her thrashing endgame will intensify until it doesn’t matter anymore. Her last action was to move out of the city and uproot our daughter’s life by changing schools and detaching her from her social circle just so she is more distant from me. Well, that went over like a lead balloon. Six months with lawyers, court appearances and tens of thousands of dollars later, the judge decided that my daughter should stay exactly where she is. The ex can move. In fact, I’d wish she move farther. But beyond the carefully strategized and tightly written legal briefs, there was always the possibility that the judge would favor the mother by default. I could lose more than shared custody. Plan for the best but expect the worst is fertile ground for my depression.
The other major stressor in my life is personal relationships. What little time I have to reconnect with people feeds a need for me to socialize with adults. And as much as I am not into playing games, people’s emotion is like wildfire—quick to ignite and devastatingly uncontrollable. It is difficult not to get consumed when passion is high and situations complicated. Unrequited emotions are very difficult for me to deal with given my own experiences which stemmed from childhood neurosis. I’ve been in situations like these more than once. For me it is akin to being locked in an iron cage and plunging down a mine shaft. I have no idea how deep I will go and how long I’ll be there. Often, I don’t even know how to get back to the surface.
This dark place exists to hold the things I neither know how to deal with nor the courage to face. It’s also a place where I go to hide because ironically, it’s a place that doesn’t judge me for being a failure. But what helps me move forward is that I have more than one dream and as many tries as I have the courage to attempt.
For me, hell is the worst possible outcome that are beyond my control to do anything about. It is not something I can understand or grasp, much less manage. Alas, it is not something I can anticipate, much less avoid. So I created a place to keep my fears, inadequacies and all other demons. This dark place is where the walls are adorned with bad experiences, worse memories, and things I do not want escaped into the real. This dark place exists to hold the things I neither know how to deal with nor the courage to face. It’s also a place where I go to hide because ironically, it’s a place that doesn’t judge me for being a failure. In this place of rock bottom, I take solace that I can plunge no further. I’ve had this place for so long it’s become a second home—one I loathe going to but one I can’t let go of because much of my personal psyche resides there. I guess the thought of not knowing what I don’t know is safer than not wanting to know the things I do. It sounds stupid and borderline irrational, and that perfectly describes and justifies the existence of my dark place.
It’s been a long time since I have spoken to my mental health therapist. I’m probably two or three years overdue for my annual checkup. What tools I get and what insight I might glean allow me to dispose one item at a time from this dark place. As I stare at the roomful of rejected sentiments, it will take me lifetimes to clear out this place. I don’t often detach from the world and go dark, and as a single dad, I don’t have that luxury. But when I feel I’m the loneliest person in the world, I am reminded by my dispirited surroundings that I alone didn’t create these memories; they were forged with other people. While these surroundings are my consolation ribbons and reminders of shattered dreams and failed efforts, what helps me move forward is that I have more than one dream and as many tries as I have the courage to attempt. From the depths of this place, even mere efforts are triumphs. This dark place should be a garbage disposal, but it has become my place for necessary respite to purge things I can’t quite fully let go. Nevertheless, it is an essential part of what I do, what I need and who I am. Maybe one day, my pain may become my strength. I look forward to that day, everyday.
