i have everything

I have everything. A good job. A beautiful place in the country to live. Some good friends. Eight wonderful kids and a wife that loves me and that I love. But I struggle to enjoy it. Don't know how to be happy. I learned so young and so vividly that the world is bleak. That no one wants me. That I am the problem - that it remains so regardless of my circumstances. At some point each day I feel full of death. That I can't possibly live one more day in this empty place. Why can't I get better? Lately I've been wanting to hurt myself. It seems just. That something terrible should happen to me. Then at least one thing in this empty senseless place would make sense. At the same time I love my family more than ever. I feel for them. I want to be here for them. I want to fight for them. Want them to never feel unwanted. But I know something has to change. I can't love them and hate me. It doesn't work that way.

brighter. bigger.

My father died when he was 39. The night before I turned 40 I dreamed a birthday party for me in the house where I grew up. The house was different. The same shapes, but brighter. Bigger. Full of people. I had redecorated the house by painting huge black words all over the walls and ceilings. They were terms of endearment for my wife, Tina. Kind. Beautiful. I answered the front door and the pastor of the church that exploded was there. He paced. Mute. Agitated. I greeted him and asked him in. He came in but still did not speak. He tried to set down his bible, but threw it across the room in anger. When I held out my hand to him he hesitated and then held out a sermon written on paper. He had prepared a message in case anyone asked him to preach at my party. He let me shake the sermon instead of his hand.

Later my wife asked me to say something to the guests. I wanted to tell them I was glad they came, that I had been sure I couldn't outlive my father and make it to 40, but I was too upset to speak. I would get to the word "father" and not be able to continue.