I can feel something inside of me slowly dying. A little more each day. Each time I'm made to feel like I'm doing the wrong thing, or feeling the wrong way, according to you. You are so quick to point at me and say, "Shouldn't you be doing this instead. Did you do that yet? Am I wrong or are YOU?" I can't argue because I just don't have the energy for it. I find myself wondering what it would be like to just leave. Never look back. But I could never do that to the kids. Not like my own father did. A man I still look up to and love, but still resent. I find myself praying for death. Wondering what it would be like to take a knife and thrust it into myself. Dragging the blade through my innards. But I fear the pain too much to consider it for long. Any death would be too painful. If not to me then to my children. I couldn't be one of those dads whose kid finds him one morning hanging from the banister. But you continue to pull me down. I know I'm far from perfect. I'm not as considerate as you when it comes to holidays or special occasions. Maybe it's because everything I've ever gotten for you has been the wrong thing. From those first birthday gifts 10 years ago. I should've known then. Instead, here I am, praying to go quietly in my sleep. Knowing I'll miss the sound of my childrens laughter. Knowing I don't ever REALLY want to die. But dying inside anyway, a little more each day......