Creativity is the bane of my existence. Writing does not come easy to me when life is proceeding relatively smoothly. I can write rap lyrics, but barring that, I have a complete block when it comes to poetry or any sort of prose. This has made the act of writing a novel somewhat of an impossible dream. Oh well.
What, oh what, could have caused me to return, I hear you ask. Well there is no sole defining factor as life is rarely that linear.
It’s a culmination of things. That and a solemn realisation.
Outwardly my life is fine at this point. Its been a year since I escaped from the lowest point I have ever reached and in that year I have progressed and thrived. Not enough though. That’s part of the problem. These lofty standards I hold for myself that I inherited from my parents. I mean to judge myself to a lower standard of success would be selling myself short right? Meh.
Inwardly, this past year has been an immense struggle. A process of healing and growth. A year of intense self scrutiny and development. I felt as though I was living wrong and sought to rectify this. I’m still not quite living right, but things have improved somewhat.
There is only one area in which nothing has truly changed…. The ongoing tug of war over my sanity and mental health. On one side you have love, honesty and empathy, and on the other you have anxiety, depression and a vindictive streak a mile long.
Do you know what it’s like to be both vindictive and empathetic? To intentionally harm someone through words or action, but then see their hurt and pain and feel it to the point that you take it on and it becomes your hurt and pain. That’s insane. It makes no sense, yet that is a regular occurrence for me. If you upset me or sense I am in a bad mood, stay away. Anyone can get it, just for asking if I’m okay. (I’m quite obviously not okay, otherwise you would have never had to ask me).
My mood can take hours to recalibrate, and it’s best to leave me to silently brood. I’ll usually isolate myself so don’t worry, I won’t sit there screwfacing like a petulant child.
All of this led me to the realisation that, ultimately this is my lot in life. I most likely will never have children nor a lasting relationship with a woman due to this behavioural trait. No, I’m not being dramatic. Practically every relationship I’ve had, has had a familiar ending. Now I’ve realised why. There’s only so much of this someone can take. As a man who is childless, i don’t wish to bring a child in this world without having a somewhat stable relationship with their mother. Knowing me, that may not last very long as my asshole tendencies would eventually push her away. In doing so, she may not wish to have me around the child, and that would cause my mind to truly flip and crash off the edge. Knowing all of this, you see why i believe having a child would be irresponsible. It’s fucked because I want a child with the fervour of a mid 40s lady whose biological clock is ticking down (was that sexist?).
Why? Legacy. I want to be a better father than my father. Not just say I could be if I was a parent. I want to tangibly prove it. I want to show the world black men can raise children, and do it in an exemplary fashion. But more so than anything, I want someone to love, who loves me. Someone who won’t give up on me, because I’ll never give up on them.
Ah fuck it. It’s all fantasy bollocks like Arsenal going a season unbeaten again under Wenger. It’s an extreme unlikelihood. One day I may be Il Padrinno. But in all likelihood, I’ll just be the Godfather and the “Cool Uncle” for life. And I’m cool with that. Life is pointless without reproducing, you may as well never even existed. And for a guy who has slipped out of more than his fair share of parties without even a glance back, this would be a fitting way to end my story. Was he ever even really alive? Or is he just a creation of someones imagination? 100 years from now, they’ll never truly know.
“I’m a fucking walking paradox, no I’m not” – Tyler, The Creator