Being Reborn

March 3, is my second birthday. While I was born on August 5, March 3 is the day where my life changed for the better. On March 3, 2014, I sat in my car in my garage with the engine running. Thankfully, that suicide attempt failed. Thankfully, I was given another shot at life. Thankfully, I'm still here today.

I'm here, two years later, dealing with things I could never have anticipated on that fateful March day. This past July, I buried my father after his battle against dementia and Alzheimer's. And now, I'm dealing with possibly the worst thing to ever happen in my life. After 12 years of marriage, my wife has filed for divorce.

It's taken a bit of time, but I'm ok with it. As Bonnie Raitt sang "I can't make you love me if you don't; you can't make your heart feel something it won." Love isn't enough sometimes. And not every love story has a happy ending. Although it's probably for the best, I'll regret that I wasn't able to fulfill my vow of til death do us part. I'll be the first to admit that there are some things I should have done has a husband and some things that I shouldn't have done. But since my oldest child was born, I knew what I was put on Earth to do: be a father.

Part of the divorce proceedings, unfortunately, is to figure out who will get custody of the children. In my case, that means that the Jefferson County Circuit Court Family Division will determine where my two girls will live and how visitations will be administered. Because this is America and we still believe in Maternal Infallibility, I have to prove myself to be a fit parent in the eyes of the court.

I now have to prove to a judge, whom I've never met, and lawyers to whom I and my family are just another case, that I am a loving father. I have to tell them that despite my clinical depression, I'm not a danger to my children. I have to convince them that although I'm no longer in love with their mother, my love for my girls grows daily.

No, these court officials weren't there as I was when my daughters took their first breaths and I watched them get wrapped up in blankets in the delivery room. They weren't there when I made bottles and changed diapers. They weren't there for those times when I rocked my daughters to sleep and chased the boogeyman away.

I've seen my girls for a total two hours since January and not by my choice. I miss them terribly and I'm sure... I know... they miss me. I miss the way Sarah furrows her brown when she reads. I miss Lauren's smile and the way she laughs at her own jokes. I miss goodnight kisses and I miss good morning hugs. I've lost grandparents, both brothers and my hero, my father. But nothing has broken my heart like being away from my girls.

A couple of weeks ago, I told Lauren that I've been a daddy without his daughters and she told me that they've been daughters without their daddy. If there's any lasting legacy that I will leave it will be my daughters. Even at this young age, they are as loving and as compassionate as I could have ever hoped. I know their future is bright. I just want to be a part of it.

In a Crowded Room, Feeling Lonely

Like most sons, I suppose, my dad was my rock. I was able to get advice from him, even if it was unsolicited, about all sorts of things. The best part about my dad is that he would listen. And he would listen without judgement.

No matter what situation I found myself in, most of my own doing, my dad would always listen to me. No matter how erroneous, he would listen to my point of view and in his often direct kind of way, he would respond with some wise words. What he never ever did, and what I try to never do to my girls, is minimize my feelings. Yes, the person in jail did some horrible stuff, but does that mean that he or she stops being human? That their feelings are somehow rendered meaningless?

Too often when we deal with our friends and family, we look at their behavior in terms of the impact on ourselves. We never take the time to really wonder what the root cause is. We see the surface, pass judgement and move on.

The worst feeling in the world is being in a crowded room and not feeling a connection to any person in it. When you feel like you can't share your true feelings, your true self, it's a solitary confinement that's more secure than Alcatraz.

Opening up to people doesn't usually come easy to people that have a mental illness. First, there's the stigma that is still associated with "being crazy." What's worse is trying to explain your thoughts to someone that won't or can't understand. So you're stuck with these thoughts that you can either deal with or lock away. You tell yourself you're alright and you know you're not because it's easier. It's easier to lie to yourself to get through the day. It's easier to put on a mask and be "happy" because that's the way you should be. And after you lie to yourself to fake your happiness for a long, it's much easier to lie to other people, even the ones you love.

As I continue my own journey and that dark voice tells me that no one cares, I'll probably agree... to a point. Even if no one else cares, I care enough about myself to keep fighting. Even if I'm the only person in my corner, that's enough.

2016: New Beginnings and TB 2.0

This has nothing to do with New Year's, but probably everything to do with it. It's the time for folks to make Resolutions, determined to change their lives for the better. And so I find myself sitting here at the lowest point that I've ever been. Like everyone else, I'm trying to turn my life around for the better.

2015 was a tough year. The first part of the year, I watched my dad succumb to the dementia that he had been fighting for years. He finally just got tired of fighting. Not to say that he gave up, but he reached the point where he was ok with the inevitable: there's a time for all of us to exit the stage. The night he passed away, my wife and I were in his room, trying to keep him comfortable. All at once, he sat up and looked at me before laying back down. I walked over and whispered to him that it was ok for him to go, that his baby boy would be alright. I went home to relax and within 3 hours I received that phone call that you never want to receive.

2015 was also rough because I've had to face and confront my own demons, which is never easy and never fun. After getting an official diagnosis of Clinical Depression in 2014, I've tried to beat it. Like a broken leg or the flu, I put all my effort into beating depression and moving on with my life. But that's not how this works. Not at all. Depression is an every day struggle. Depression means monitoring medications and talking to mental professionals and honest evaluation. It's not easy, but it's necessary.

I haven't been fair to a lot of people in my life, specifically my wife and my children. They've paid the biggest price for my own selfish, "I can handle it" attitude. While I can't turn back the clock and erase past mistakes (of which there are plenty),  I can work hard toward a brighter and better tomorrow. I owe it to myself, my girls and my friends and family to be better in 2016.... so, TB 2.0 it is.

Welcome

Well, this thing is just getting started. I can't promise you anything other than my own crazy ramblings. I'll offend, I'll ruffle some feathers, and I'll generally make people uncomfortable. All in an effort to be funny.

So, enjoy the ride and remember that it's free.