Lessons

I'm supposed to teach my children how to be good people. I'm supposed to teach them how to take care of themselves. And being a bully isn't a positive way to be, in my opinion, so I should teach them how to live their lives without being bullies. Right? I think so.

I'm also supposed to teach them how to live without being bullied. If there is a bully, they should be able to live their lives without being picked on. They should be able to go to a teacher and say that so-and-so is picking on me and the teacher should stop the bullying. Right? That's the way it's supposed to work.

I never had to deal with much bullying in my school days, but apparently, for my kids, bullying has been a big deal. Apparently, they have gone to teachers who haven't stopped the bullying. I don't get that. Even if the teachers believe that my kids are creating the trouble, shouldn't they stop the harassment somehow so that it doesn't continue? That's the way we want to teach our kids to behave, isn't it? I think so.

So I don't know what I'm supposed to teach them now. Their father is bullying them, my wife and me. We have gone to the court once, and it's continued. We've gone to two attorneys and one guardian ad litem, somebody who is supposed to be speaking in their best interests, and the bullying continues. In fact, it has been supported by the very person who was supposed to look out for them and stop the bullying.

What lesson do I teach them now? That I can't deal with my anger? That they just have to live being picked on and that's the way of the world? That no one will help them, even if they do speak up? That they aren't deserving of help or a good life without hardships being brought upon them by their father?

I want to beat up their father. I want to tear him to shreds. More than ever, I want to bathe in his blood and giggle as he scratches at my face, trying to inflict some kind of retaliatory damage against me, but it's no good. I want him to feel pain. I see myself attacking him when he steps in my house. I can actually feel my muscles tighten as I imagine physical violence of all kinds against him. Because he is supposed to be looking out for those kids, too, but he doesn't care. And that's the lesson they will learn. Their voice doesn't matter. Their feelings aren't valid. As long as they do what their father wants them to do, they will be taken care of. Mom and me aren't here for you and we can't help.

I've never felt this helpless before. I don't know how to look them in the eye anymore. I'm ashamed that I can't do anything more for them. I'm ashamed of myself. I have failed them. They must continue to live like this because I can't find a way out of it. And because of my failure, they are learning those other lessons about themselves and about their mother. I have brought them to this.

If I had never come into their lives, what would their lives be like, I wonder. Better than now? If I hadn't come into their lives, let's assume that their father would have tried to prevent them from seeing their mother, just like he is doing now. And let's assume that she would have fought just as hard as she is now. Except she would have to do it alone. She might have found that three-bedroom house for them to live in. That might be where they would still be. She wouldn't have found our attorney, because our attorney came to us through my mother, so she would have to find another attorney and a way to pay for that attorney. I don't know that she would have gone that far. So, if I hadn't been around, this wouldn't have gone to trial. The boys would still be seeing their mother 4 days a month. And they would be angry at their father for not letting him see her more than they do. But they wouldn't feel like nobody listens to them. And my wife would continue to feel like nobody listens to her, but she wouldn't have it proven to her, yet again, as it has been so many times before.

And neither boy would have gone through a weekend where their step-father stayed in the bedroom all weekend, except for the moment that he came out, yelled at them, made everyone feel stupid and unloved, and then went back to his room. Horrible person, I am.

At this moment, I believe that my family would have been better off without me. I can't stop their father from being vindictive and malicious towards them. I can't hire somebody to stop him from being vindictive and malicious towards them. I can't hire somebody to listen to them. I can't be loving to them when they need it.

The remains of a cookie cake was sitting on the stove this morning. Sometime this weekend, they got a cookie cake. They are capable of having fun without me. They can tune me out if they need to. Why am I making them work harder to feel good? Shouldn't I be helping them? Goddam, I fucking suck the life out of my family. I'm worse than their father, because I wasn't needed in this equation. I'm just making things worse. I'm not helping. That's my lesson: I'm not helping.