The men in my family destroy themselves.
My dad drank night and day for thirty seven years and smoked for half a century. He quit drinkin’ but the cigarettes stopped him when he was 61.
My uncle died when he was 47 years old. Heroin and booze.
My brother, 56 years old, alcoholic, diabetic, drug addicted, blind, both legs gone below the knee, dialysis wasn’t workin’ anymore so he raised his hand in farewell June 11, 2009.
My cousin, don’t even want to talk about it.
We are riddled with self-loathing.
And, even though I stopped drinkin’ and drugs when I was 25, the only difference between my afore mentioned relatives and me is I know I hate myself.
Yeah, after decades of recovery and therapy, I still deal with it day in, day out.
And, even though I have made great progress, I’ve wrecked important relationships, passed on career opportunities, lived in near poverty and still have managed to owe our federal government tens of thousands of dollars in back taxes, interest and penalties.
Now, other folks might tell you somethin’ different. They might tell you how I’ve come through for them and how I’m considered by most to be a stand up guy.
And, I would have to admit, with some exceptions, that’s true where others are concerned.
The exceptions, of course, are the folks I’ve hurt in my, so far, futile attempts to destroy myself.
I hate hurtin’ folks. Especially the folks I love.
Hey, maybe that’s the answer.