Frustration

This is about to be proof why I shouldn't be allowed to write something others might be able to read, even by accident, when I'm feeling this way.


I am sick to fucking death of what my life amounts to at this point. I spent the last couple of days fantasizing about dying in an accident somehow (quick and painless, preferably) or being medically castrated; either one would help.

I hate myself for feeling like this because it means my wife and k**s aren't enough to make me truly happy. The awful truth is that they just aren't. I love my k**s a bunch, say I do, anyway, and even actually might, as much as I have the capacity, but I'm not a good parent (nor a good person) in many ways. And I guess they "need" me in the sense that I earn all the money and configure, fix and maintain all their stuff, protect the house and all, but I'm not raising them like I should. They seem like OK people now, bright and happy and full of love and hope, but I know the world will strip most of that away from them soon enough as it does to all of us. Sure if you asked them, they would say they love their dad, but dads aren't here to be loved-- they are here to raise healthy, productive adults and in that regard if it happens in this case it's not due to anything I did. I'm too lazy to be a good parent, really. Too self-involved and weak-willed.

And the wife is certainly not a plus. All we have anymore is tension. We resent each other-- she resents my diminished attraction to her, I'm sure, also clearly resents my growing inability to just shut up and let her have her way. I try to tell her stuff is dumb or wrong, even though I know she will just make it about ME being dumb and wrong, somehow. And even though I know it always goes down that way I can't let some things pass without a challenge, that always ends with my grudging apology for daring to hold a contrary opinion or being unwilling to make a decision based on a gut feeling alone.

So I in turn resent her for almost EVERYTHING, notably including being a really good woman that I damned near hate by now, something that makes me feel just terrible to admit, much less walk around feeling. She deserved someone who loved her enough to keep bending over for her, but 16 years appears to be my personal limit. And she wonders why I don't want to fuck her (without any interest or input from her, which is what I'm supposed to be able to do) but she acts like my mother most of the time and I never wanted to fuck my mom. Some folks do, apparently, but I was never one of 'em.

And so much of all of this is due to sex, and my unrequited desire for it. That explains the castration fantasy. If I never ever dreamed again of exciting sex, I might be able to at least settle comfortably into a post-male situation, to take up some stupid hobbies and work on pretending to enjoy antique shopping and growing flowers and family outings and watching reality TV shows like I am apparently supposed to. Retire from life and desire and ambition early, so I could "enjoy" the rest of my life, which to me seems indistinguishable from PRETENDING to enjoy things like I do now.

And it's all totally selfish, I get that. I might as well be Veruca Salt, shouting at Daddy to get me my very own Oompa-Loompa. Why do I think I NEED to feel like a man? It's not like "manhood" is valued anymore, or even necessary for most folks. I've already had my requisite two c***dren, why do I even still have a mating urge now? What good is it doing me, or anyone else? And what's up with wanting to hunt and kill stuff? That's mean, awful, I shouldn't want that either. Why do I need to compete with people, also? That's not productive or friendly. As long as someone wins, someone else has to lose, and that seems to be something we are moving away from as a society, another relic of days gone by.

In fact, there's no roles I need to fill in my life that require those ancient biological aspects of manhood: the hunting, gathering, sowing of seed and battling for supremacy and all. Those things are little more than an inconvenience at best, problematic and destabilizing at worst, in modern life. I'd probably be happier without those drives, or at least more sanguine in my acceptance of the facts. As things are, I'm just miserable and raging and trapped and aimless. Too sharply aware of (and humiliated by) my own evident impotence in all aspects of life, but still dogged by the notion that I'm not complete without those aspects. I'd trade it for soft, shallow, apathetic and comfortably confined, I guess, just for a change of pace. Be more like most other people around me.


So anyone want a set of balls? They are barely used, considering their vintage. I sure don't seem to have a use for 'em.