Below is a letter I wrote to a long-time friend of mine; he moved upstate a couple of decades ago and we lost touch for a while.

I wanted to share it with you all as well. I guess I feel the need to reach out right now; to not feel so alone. And if someone else out there feels anything like I do, then I hope they can get something out of this too.

I don’t know. But it doesn’t hurt to try. 🤷‍♂️

~Trying is about the only thing right now that doesn’t hurt.~

I appreciate you man.

Some days/weeks are harder than others. Last night, and earlier today, has definitely been difficult. It shouldn’t have been, but it’s been two years this month since [my ex] and I decided to split; well, she decided, and I went along with it without much of a fight. 10 years ago, give or take, my dad died. My brother was being his usual ass self, and just couldn’t leave me alone, and we got into a fight. That was the last time I saw or spoke with my family. My kids, [my ex], and her family were the only family I had left. They were a great family too. They were the family I had always dreamed of having.

Every year at summer time they get together at [local beach] for a beach trip. They rent a big house, and [my ex]’s parents, brother and his wife, sister and her husband, and their children, all get together and just hang out for the week. Shit, now that I think of it, the last time I went with them to the beach was on the 4th of July in 2023. It was a thinly veiled “last chance” for me and [my ex], but we had one argument and by the time we got home she set it in stone that we were done. So I started looking for an apartment and I moved out by August. Now, I get to sit here all by myself while they go off and have their fun adventures.

I not only lost my adopted family, but our mutual friends eventually decided I wasn’t worth a damn anymore. Of course she’s still friends with them. It wasn’t for a lack of trying on my part, but they just couldn’t be bothered with me. So I gave up on them too. Not only was my family not mine, but neither were my friends.

I love my boys so fucking much. I couldn’t bear the thought of hurting them. No matter how bad things get, I don’t think I could ever do it. I tell myself they are too young to deal with that sort of thing. Maybe in 8-10 years when they go off to college; maybe when they settle down with a family of their own. I don’t know. I think I’m just making excuses because I’m just a fucking coward.

I cry myself to sleep more often than not. In between the sobs I pray and wish that by the time morning comes, I won’t wake up. Hey, I’m getting old; I have a family history of heart disease and cancer. It’s not too far fetched, and my kids won’t be as fucked up as they would if I did it to myself. Coward.

So many times I’ve wished that the pain in my chest was on the left side, and not the right, where my anxiety lives. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone or something will do the thing I cannot bring myself to do for myself. Maybe: That’s my mantra. Maybe things will change. Maybe I’ll meet the love of my life. Maybe, if I just hold on a little bit longer, I’ll finally be happy with what I already have and stop pining away for things I think I should have.

I’m all alone in this world. You’re up there with your family, what’s left of my family is down at the beach. I am here in the middle, all by myself.

I hope they think about me a little while they have the time of their lives. Don’t get me wrong. I know my boys love me. I can see it in how they look at me. [my oldest] loves laying with me on the couch. [my youngest] is always telling me about the games he plays. Both kids love having me lay with them at bedtime. [my youngest] did ask for me to come to the beach with them; if I could’ve, I would’ve gone with them. I have no doubt in my heart that they love me. But there will come a day when they no longer come to stay with me. They will leave here for the last time, and go on to live their own lives. Maybe they’ll stay in touch. Maybe they’ll visit from time to time. It’s that damn “maybe” again. Always giving me false hope. And I know from experience that false hope always ends up hurting the most.

Yesterday was a good day. I spent all afternoon playing with my boys at my old neighbor’s annual pool party. [my youngest] was glued to my side almost the whole time. We ate dinner at [my ex]’s. It was a hold over from [my oldest]’s birthday earlier this month. We always give the kids a birthday dinner together. Her sister and husband were there too, so I got to hang out with my nieces a little too. We watched Grizzy and Lemmings on Netflix (the youngest niece is 6), and we had a good time laughing at the goofiness of the show. But then I had to leave and come home. My fairytale had come to an end. My world, once again, came crashing down around me. The tide had ebbed.

I spent most of today sleeping. I woke up long enough to feed and water my dog and watch a movie. Then I went back to sleep for a few more hours. I woke up because the weight of my blanket made it feel like I couldn’t move at all. It’s a weighted blanket, but I felt panicked because I was being pinned down and it hurt and for a good while, I literally couldn’t move. I wasn’t paralyzed. I just didn’t have the strength to move. I did have a paralysis dream once. It was much different; much more frightening. At the time I dreamed I was in my bed, and a monster/demon was coming through my door. I tried to get up to move, but I just couldn’t. It was like when your arm falls asleep and no matter how hard you try, it just won’t move. Now that I think about it, I’ve had that dream twice now since my divorce. This time was different. There was no demon coming for me. I just couldn’t overcome gravity like I usually do.

I’ll probably go back to sleep in a little bit after sending this email. I have no good reason to stay awake right now. I’m always biding my time between sleep. I have no motivation to do any of the million-and-one things I need and want to do. I have fungus (not the good kind) growing under my house, which I still need to vapor barrier and insulate after my hot water heater sprung a leak earlier this year. I have spiders throwing raves and orgies in my garage because there are absolutely no walls and a shit ton of holes and cracks that need to be filled. I still have over half a yard full of leaves from last year that need to be raked (that’s even after bagging 30+ bags this year). I’m in the middle of building a computer desk. I want to build a patio/firepit out back so I can enjoy the outside. The list goes on and on. I have all this free time, and no passion for anything anymore. I’m drowning. I am in a constant state of drowning. I’m just flailing away, gagging, and gasping for little bits of air here and there, but I never fully succumb.

PS. To my boys, if you ever come across this post, and I didn’t make it, please know that I tried really, really hard. I’m so sorry to have ever let you down.