The Big 26 and other personal tragedies

I have some problems in my life…and, it’s my birthday today. Twenty six is as significant as nineteen because nobody gives a rat’s ass. It’s like sharing stories about lower back pain: most people just nod and walk away, forever avoiding stories of painful decay by vacuous shows of emotion. Since haphazard recourse isn’t my thing, the contemplation of slow decay is often just another fish in a sea of self-diagnosed conditions. Conditions, pray tell?

Well, for one, I’m a pretty social guy but I suffer from occasional, yet intense, bouts of hypos and I have month-long episodes that are strangely reminiscent of agoraphobic behavior. I grow a beard, order in every meal, and I get paranoid because my pets are watching me. Regardless, I think I’ve self-diagnosed myself with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), which is probably true that I have it, but it’s one of those instances where it’s so much easier to just blame it on my dad instead. Considering his doctor looked at his psychological rap sheet and asked him how he is still alive, there is no doubt in my mind that I suffer from many kinds of neurosis that have somehow overlapped in a passive-aggressive infanticide fantasy.

Need evidence? This is a man who stormed out of the room upset because I made an ill-fated joke about alcoholism.

“I don’t need to be reminded of this everyday of my life!”

This is a man who for two years drank himself into economic frailty and nearly drove away his wife (yet again), verbally abused his children, pulled a gun on a member of his family, and then had the chutzpa to declare that he was emotionally damaged and shouldn’t have to face his transgressions.

Somehow I feel like my social issues can be summed up as Progeny Assimilation Syndrome (this is made up), but it probably has to do with your children inheriting your domestic insanity. Nonetheless, even with terrifying moments of antisocial paralysis that occasionally keep me watching the world through the window, I have achieved a great many things in my opinion, and because birthdays give room for more selfish behavior—I will indulge this nightmare ritual that our society deems as both a rite and a realization that the years move on regardless of your hopes and dreams.

At twenty one I had my first short story published in an Ezine and shortly thereafter had my first successful print publication which was proceeded by various other online publications. Regardless of the quality of some of said electronic magazines I remain proud. Moreover, I’ve had numerous news articles published as a freelance writer, a staff writer, and a volunteer newsman. All in all, a series of successes that I did not think would happen until I was in my forties.

Too, I’m one of those musician-writers you run into all the god damn time; I believe the romanticism of both hobbies makes them enticing for creative types. But, I’ve had the honor of playing live music with my friends and recording an album that I love. I will hopefully continue with music for as long as I can because it’s something I enjoy, and thank the Omnipotent Floating Blue Orb that I have been fortunate enough to jam with some very talented people.

Overall, I think I’ve done alright. I have a girlfriend who loves me and siblings who support each other and remain pretty close. Though, I must say that I’ve struggled and continue to do so in many aspects of my life, but I have resolved to continue against my better judgment. I suppose it’s a rather moot point as my aspirations are as realistic as I can make them. I try aiming for the clouds rather than the deepest depths of space. I don’t mind a letdown but a career failing kick in the balls is a crushing blow I don’t fantasize about too often, so I prefer to stay on the road rather than putting on the four-wheel drive and heading for the country.

I hope to accomplish more before I’m 30, but for now I feel comfortable that I’ve gotten enough done. Maybe I’ll take a year off and watch the world out my bedroom window, like an old man from an urban legend (“Hey, look! Old man Sampson is sitting in his chair looking out the window again! What a loser!)—perhaps this time though, I can better prepare myself against moody delusions. .