A darkened soul

A Darkened Soul

I've just been in an argument with my fifteen-year-old daughter that
has left both of us in a silent anger. I am so good
I feel so ******* angry I can't find the words that describe how I
feel. I hate to write obscenities on paper, but that's just how I
******* well feel. I loose my temper and lecture someone and it's me
that gets the ******* blame. "Be careful, think about what you say." I
spend my ******* days watching what I say and still I put my *******
foot in it. I'm ******* sick of putting my foot in it. I can't do
anything right for anyone, least not for long. My daughter is growing
up, and you want to know the desperate thing about it all? I haven't a
clue what is going on in her head or how I should even speak to
her.

I'm good a saying a lot about ****-all. Bullshit as it is called. It's
a pity I can't bottle it and sell it; I'd own the ******* earth. I
spent five years chasing a shadow; something I had made my dream and to
**** with anyone else. Now I am paying the price for it, but what makes
me so angry is that everyone else in my family is suffering too. I have
just closed my eyes and tried to write as I picture the images in my
mind, but all I can see is darkness, and that is punctured by the light
from the lamp on my desk. I hate myself; I have never finished anything
in my life and never stuck by any decision that I made. I sometimes try
to please everyone and no one ends up feeling happy.

The only reason I am typing this is because I feel too choked up with
anger to even speak, which would be a shock to anyone who knows me.
'Good old Graham - always cheerful. When I was at Harlech College, I
sometimes got miserable and that upset people. So what am I supposed to
******* well do? Read a ******* crystal ball? Be all things to all
people?
You know the one thing that's stopping me from topping myself? I'm
afraid of death and dying. At least in death I'd be missed. You know,
remembered through rose-coloured glasses as (and I quote again) 'good
old Graham.
The truth is that no one really wants to listen. They say they do, but
when you get heavy, you get those soothing platitudes that really mean
'shut the **** up you're whinging is beginning to get on my nerves'.
So, if you are still reading you are either curious or just bored and
need something to give you a laugh.
Tonight reminded me of the past - my past. I thought I had run away
from it, but now it's back. Sure, the names have changed and my drunken
ranting father isn't here, but the anger and the silence stabs me in
the heart just like it always did. No one is hitting my mother or
screaming in her face until the hoarseness forces their voice to crack.
No one has threatened to leave, or hurt me with darkened threats of
"won't I, just wait and see" that leave my terrified mind not even
knowing what to fear. But as sure as the curse of the generations comes
around it is my turn to face the darkness that lurks within my soul and
which has been passed down the family tree. I could cope and love those
around me, until now. I thought I had it made, but all I have made is a
mess.
I'm suffering from spiritual cancer. It has been eating away at my soul
since birth. It consumes the love and the many good things I was gifted
with and fills the voids with bitterness, anger, and resentment. Now I
don't even try to be moral or true. It would be a lie, and that is what
I am living - a lie