Firstly, I will admit that I am no writer, that much is for certain, so I don't really know how I want to write this. Hell, I don't even know what all to write, but I just got an urge to do so. You know what I mean? I could write my journey with my issues individually, or I could do it chronologically. Let's find out together, as I won't come back to this paragraph to make any edits. Good luck following my brain...

Let me introduce myself. I won't say my name, obvious reasons can be inferred, but I am a middle-aged man, twice married, 2 kids with each (totaling 4 altogether), college educated, professional career, good with my hands and thinking outside the box, and grew up in a broken home where all this started.

I was average overactive hyper kid growing up in the 80's, had a rat tail for a bit, a Marlins Starter jacket, played nintendo, and loved to do things I wasn't supposed to do. My mom was mostly a stay at home mom, but worked small jobs as a teacher or retail here or there. My father was a blue collar worker, leaving in the dark early morning, come home to nap, then early to bed. That was my normal life, along with going to regular baseball games to partake in. My older brother was somewhat the same, but he seemed to be more adept in acquiring friends than I was, not to mention always had good grades. My younger sister was the baby in the family, and always got everything. Being the middle child, I hated and was jealous of both of them.

Jump forward to first year in high school. My father took me to my first NBA basketball game. I'd say we had fun, and I was so excited, but honestly, I can't remember for the life of me a single second of that trip. Why? Because when we returned, my mother had packed her stuff and left. I was never close with my dad, mostly because I wasn't your typical kid, so I annoyed him a lot, and he had anger management issues and had narcissistic tendencies. Nor was I ever close with my brother or sister, though they always got along with each other. But my mom, we were close. I know I was her 'favorite'. We all know you aren't supposed to have a favorite kid, but there's always one you favor just a bit more than the others. So, her leaving sparked my deepest fear: abandonment.

Let's move ahead another 15 years. I'm 29 now, married for last four, two kids under 8, house, car, working with my dad (I know!) with our own little business. For the last year my wife had been going out doing these modeling gigs, with this guy who was in charge of that stuff. I had my suspicions something was going on, but never had any proof. Well, I went to work but saw a truck with someone in it just sitting, so I took long way back home. Come inside to see unknown shoes in my doorway, hear the shower running, go upstairs and catch them in the shower. Boom! Marriage over.

Fast forward 10 more years (we're now in 2018) and I get a call from my mom's number. I answer, but no one's talking, then they hang up. A minute later, her number shows on my phone again, it's my stepfather. He is calling me to find out if my sister really is dead. This was first I heard about it. So I called my brother and he said he didn't know. I called my dad, no answer. Called my stepmom, she confirms that something happened but isn't sure what, that my dad ran out the door and drove off. Called my sister, no answer. Looked up her address (she lived several states away), found her neighbor's number and called them. They answered, and they actually had my niece in their house because she had found her mom (my sister) dead on the floor.

Fast forward a little over a year (2019) and this is where things really get out of hand. Yeah, like they weren't already, right? Over the course of, well, since my sister suddenly died, my mom had quickly deteriorated. Mentally. She had dementia, and this started becoming very problematic near Thanksgiving. She had another episode where she thought her husband was someone else trying to kill her. I had always been her anchor back to this world, so I was always the person they would call to bring her back. This time was different though. She had hidden a knife in her side table drawer, so now her husband's life was in danger at any ongoing episode. So, I drove her to the hospital, and began the process of getting her committed. She didn't last too long after that. A couple weeks being diagnosed and medicated and then sent home, until she was too far gone and ended in the hospital. A couple weeks laying there, wasting away, she finally passed the day after Christmas.

During this time, my father had taken a major fall at a clinic and had fractured his back. His physical declined precipitated a cognitive decline, which he ultimately ended up in hospice around the same time my mother's final visit the hospital. This became a HUGE problem with my father's family, and they all were completely against my stepmother, stepsister, my brother, and myself. We knew my dad didn't want to live like he was, but they were so adamant that we were trying to kill him and take his money. So after he passed in end of January, the entire extended family shunned me. And when we all went to my father's funeral, they did something so despicable that I won't even type it here, because that would extend this journey way too much than it already is. My dad's funeral was a week or so after his passing, then my mother's memorial was the weekend after that. My mother's memorial was the last time I heard from my brother (my only living blood relative who wasn't my child).

Fast forward to about a year ago. I had been having a major problem with doing work, motivation, sleeping, anything really. My anger would spew out, and I'd yell at the kids way too much over way too little. Eventually, I had given in and recognized there was something wrong with me, and I needed help. I contacted a company to start counseling, but that ended up being too late. For when they called me two weeks later to schedule my first session, the night where it all changed happened. This was my anniversary night with my wife, and at the end of the night, while we were talking in bed, she said something that set me off. Never before had I been like this, and I ended up striking her with a slap and pushing her down onto the bed while completely yelling at her over everything. Basically, ended my marriage right there.

Luckily for me, after weeks of us being separated but living together, and me seeking professional help, she chose to try to stay together. Since this time, I have come to find that I was extremely depressed, had anger problems, and there was something not quite right with my synapses. I continue to go to therapy, I see my counselor weekly. I have a psychiatrist who I see regularly to adjust my medications. I have taken up several hobbies, and have even started up my own business, much like what my dad and I had long ago. My kids are happier because I don't yell nearly as much anymore. My wife is happier because she feels like she has her best friend and husband back. And I am happier because I don't feel that tightness in my chest all day every day, like I was wrapped tightly with no give.

So, that's my story of where I went from an isolated kid who didn't know what his emotions were, to a young adult dealing with major problems, to a grown up who didn't realize that I was taking things out on people who didn't deserve it, to someone who now knows his self worth and has become happier than he's ever been. Thank you to any and all who read this far. You too can be happy, just need the right push.