5/5/2024

I visited my mom today for the first time in a long time, with the kids. My brother finally gave me her new address so I was able to visit. I used to have to take care of her, to call her to remind her of things like taking her medicine every night, but this place takes care of all that. It’s so nice to have one less thing on my plate, but I also really miss her.

It was nice to see her, but as much as I tried to pretend things were the way they were years ago, my reality follows me like the grim reaper. When I was held up at gunpoint earlier this week, I told the guy to shoot me and I really meant it. I wanted him to kill me. He had the gun pointed at my face and I smiled and I begged him to. But he was too much of a pussy. But the key takeaway is that I really don’t want to be alive.

Anger and hatred, rage and spite, are the things keeping me alive now, and a sense of obligation to my kids. My suicide counselor told me that kids with parents who commit suicide are more likely to commit suicide themselves. And I wouldn’t want me killing myself to cause one of my kids to do the same. But I don’t want to be alive. Not wanting to commit suicide and wanting to be alive are most definitely not the same thing.

I’ve given up hope that there’s anything left for me in this world. I’ve given up hope that any of my dreams are anything other than childhood hopes that have been dashed by the horrors of my adult life. I have no hope left for the future. I don’t believe in love anymore. I don’t really believe in anything. I just exist because I have kids. And even that is nearly impossible. Every day I fight battles against demons that have already defeated me.

My wife still lives in my other house and I’m forced to pay for both houses, two sets of utilities, and four kids, so I work my ass off but have no money, and then I have the four kids on weekends so I never get a break. On top of that, the one woman who I’ve had more in common with, who I fit with better than anyone I’ve ever met, who understood me better than anyone ever has, decided she’d rather be with some guy I feel like she knows isn’t right for her. So if she doesn’t want to be with me, who possibly could? My self esteem is at an all time low. I feel unwanted, discarded, and unnecessary. I’m an aging, angry and bitter middle aged separated guy with four kids. I’m not that great looking. I’m going bald, my hair is gray, my beard is white, and I wear high powered glasses because without them I can’t see shit. I don’t really know what I have going for me at this point, and to be honest, I don’t really care. I don’t want to be in love. I don’t even really want to get laid. I just want all of this pain and suffering to be over.

So I’ve decided to start a new writing project. I guess at the very least it will give me a purpose maybe. I’m hoping this one sticks because I haven’t really been able to write anything sustainable lately. There’s a fantasy series I’ve been working on for years. I finished the first book, went through rounds of editing with beta readers, sent it out to agents and was rejected time and time again. My plan was to go through another round of editing but I just don’t feel it anymore. It was a story of hope and love and I don’t believe in either of those things anymore and therefore can’t write about them. So I’m scrapping my life’s work.

It’s the day after Star Wars day and I feel like I’ve become Darth Vader. I really enjoyed beating the crap out of those two fuckers who tried to rob me. I felt like Anakin butchering the sand people. Yes, those two fuckers seemed like animals to me. Their punches didn’t even hurt but I could hear bones crack when I hit them. And I loved that sound. It felt so great to finally take out all of my anger and hatred and aggression on someone.

So back to my new writing project, if I ever get around to it. So the day after those two little shits tried to rob me, I thought about walking at night to get some barbecue. I realized I’d be walking right past the spot they tried to rob me. And my first thought was bring it on, I’ll fuck them up even worse this time. But I remembered my kids and turned and walked back home and then drove to the barbecue place. But what if I hadn’t?

I saw on Next Door that some other guy was robbed by two guys who fit the same description. In the same neighborhood. But they beat him and pistol whipped him and sent him to the hospital. They pointed their gun at him too, and they got his bike and his wallet. I felt guilty. I felt guilty for letting them run away after I beat their asses. And I taunted them as they ran. I probably pissed them off and made them want to take out their aggression on some other poor unwitting soul. A soul whose grandmother posted on Next Door about how upset she was and scared for her grandson’s life. And after I left my mom’s today, I wished I’d ran after those punks and beat them worse. I wished I’d beaten them until all the fight was gone from them permanently. Until there was no way they’d ever be able to hurt someone else. The other guy who got mugged called the cops and they didn’t do shit. I mean what could they do? Two black males dressed in all black. Could be anyone in Baltimore pretty much. But I could have chased them and beaten them worse. And I didn’t.

So what if I had gone for that walk and beaten them again, only this time chased them down and stopped them from ever robbing anyone again? And then what if I made a habit of it? What if I bought a Kevlar body suit, a mask and bulletproof glasses. Some knife blades to slide out from my wrists. What if I became a real life super hero? I can’t feel pain. I’m not afraid of anything. I’m strong as hell and I know some karate. And I’m learning more and more week in and week out. I run 4.5 miles a day and lift weights.

So here’s the idea. So I don’t have to actually become a superhero in real life, I’ll write about what would have happened if I did. I’ll start with a real life journal entry about the night I got mugged. And from there the rest of it will answer the question what if I’d done things just a little differently? And the characters will be real life characters from my life. With names changed of course. And I’ll call it The Journals of Vigilante. And I’ll publish it here on prose.

If I ever get around to it. I’ve been too depressed to do much of anything lately. But here’s to hoping.