Palinoia

I've Said It Before and I'll Say It Again

My daughter is absolutely crazy about repetition. My daughter is absolutely crazy about repetition. My daughter is absolutely crazy about repetition.

She can fixate on something like nobody I've ever met (even me, and I'm frighteningly obsessive), whether it be a book, a song, a nursery rhyme, poem; whatever; she will repeat it until the absolute death. 

This morning, her love of repetition centred around a single sentence: "Daddy, I've found my Baby Jake!" She repeated it at different volumes and using different silly voices, but that was the only thing she was saying. 

Baby Jake is a British children's television show focusing on the exploits and adventures of a crudely animated, gibberish-spouting baby (called Jake, funnily enough) and his raggle-taggle collection of cohorts; which includes hamsters from space, a monkey of indiscernible gender, and a rabbit who appears to have sustained some sort of brain injury. As with most things aimed at children, Baby Jake has his own line of merchandising, including a not in the least bit terrifying doll. 

He Wants Your Soul

Now, if Maddie owned one of these dolls, had lost it, then found it again, the sentence, "Daddy, I've found my Baby Jake!" would make perfect sense. But she hasn't. So it doesn't; which makes dealing with the repetition even harder.

I'm not good with repetition. I get bored easily. I think I struggle with Maddie's repetition so much because nothing I say makes it stop. You might be rushing to the comment section to inform me that repetition is an important part of a child's development, and that it's how they learn new things. I don't care. It doesn't make it any less annoying. I sometimes get so wound up by it that I struggle to suppress my impulse to eat her face off.

But I hide it. I hide my annoyance and my frustration. I hide the fact that I want to be left alone for fifteen minutes so I can hear my own thoughts and drink a cup of coffee. I hide the fact that my difficulty in dealing with this makes me feel like I'm failing her. I hide the fact that I want to run out of the door and never come back. I hide the fact that I'm struggling. I hide the fact that I'm terrified of getting it wrong. I hide it all and I ask her what Baby Jake was doing when she found him.

A while ago, I told a therapist that I feel like a bad parent because this stuff doesn't come naturally to me and that I have to force myself to do it. She said that if I were a bad parent, I wouldn't force myself.

In Your Headspace, No One Can Hear You Scream

First Things First

I've made a hell of a lot of mistakes in my life, and spent a lot of time in therapy trying to come to terms with the aftermath of all the pain and destruction I've orchestrated. At the age of forty two, it seems like I'm finally starting to get things right.

How's that for an opening? Have I set up an expectation for one of those 'Man faces adversity but finds inner strength and true love, overcomes adversity, insert a bullshit motivational quote and a photo of a sunset, high-five, love is all around, eat some fucking quinoa and declutter your life, baby!' type blogs? Sorry, this won't be like that. What I am going to do is try telling you as honestly as I can what life is like for me, in the hope that it helps me make sense of things. If we're both lucky, it might help you a little, also.

The reason I'm writing this is very simple: I'm a self-absorbed, narcissistic, ego maniac, who believes every single thought he has is worth sharing. I'm joking, of course (but there's probably quite a bit of truth in that). The real reason I'm doing this is because I have a lot of things I need to talk about, but I don't have many people to talk to. Before you start shedding tears and playing tiny violins, let me explain. I used to drink. I used to drink a lot. And often. Lots. Lots and lots. Lots and lots and lots. All the time. I wasn't a nice person when I drank, and I was even worse when I didn't. Many of the people in my life turned their back on me (I honestly don't blame them, I'd even given up on me). I reached a point where I'd lost most of my friends and family, my job, my house, my self respect and the will to live.

Then, in what seems like frighteningly quick succession (and if this were Hollywood, it would have been an awful, power-ballad-fueled montage), I met a girl, fell in love, got clean and sober, moved to another city and became a father. 

My life is very, very different from what it used to be, and so am I. What few friends I had left have drifted away since I got sober. It isn't hard to see why; I'm not the same person I used to be. In order to live life as a sober, functioning member of society, I've had to come to terms with, and rid myself of, a lot of the negative aspects of my personality. I'm not as cynical, critical, angry or judgmental as I used to be, and those were traits that defined me. I no longer react or respond the same way I used to, and that must be very difficult for people who've known me for a long time and expect certain patterns and behaviours from me. I suppose I must seem like a stranger. I'll be honest; a lot of the time, I feel very isolated and very lonely, but I am in a much better place than I used to be.


Anyway, back to the plot.
[Power-ballad-fueled montage fades into]
INTERIOR. SIMON'S HOUSE - DAY
Simon can be seen sat on the edge of his bed, scratching his head, with a bewildered look on his face.


It seemed like I woke one day into a completely different life. My family were talking to me again, and I had a brand new family of my own. I have a little girl called Madeleine (note the spelling) and a fantastic partner called Sophie (at my age, I hate using the term 'girlfriend' - I think it makes me sound a bit 'I'm having a mid-life crisis and I've bought a small Asian woman from a specialist website'). We also have two cats; Bernard and Maia - although Bernard is very old and I suspect he's not long for this Earth (and if Maia pisses in the corner of the front room once more, neither is she).

I struggle with a lot of things. Being a father, for instance, I find to be VERY challenging. Being patient, caring, loving and understanding is very difficult for me and I have to constantly work at it. I am hyper critical of myself and continually have to battle the part of me that wants to believe I'm worthless. I'm a perfectionist who would rather avoid something than have it go wrong or be below standard. I struggle with my feelings and emotions, and my frustration at my inability to be more loving and open can very quickly turn into a frightening and directionless anger that makes me feel worse and drives people away. I can also be cynical, bitter and sarcastic.

On the plus side, I'm incredibly honest and I cook really well.  And I'm a good father. And I try my best to be better. Some people are driven by the desire to have more, I'm driven by the desire to be more.

That's me. This is my life as it is now, but I'm sure I'll be telling you about what life used to be like as we go along. This is going to be an online journal, where I will share my problems, anxieties, stresses and neuroses as often as I feel the need to. I'm not very comfortable doing that, but I think it will do me good. I'm also going to share the laughter, fun and happiness (which I am even less comfortable with). Thanks for reading this far. I'll see you soon.

Until next we speak...