redeye's blog: "red eye moments"

Once upon a time, in place far far away, at a time that I can never have back, at a life that died a long time ago, a picture like this meant nothing to me: 

It would have just been a man and a child, probably his child. I would have thought "cute" and moved on.

Now every father and every daughter is a slap in the face to me. Now every family is a taunt. Every happy child and happy father seem placed in front of me just to torture me. I see this everyday. When I am in a professional setting, I have to bite my cheek hard to not start sobbing hysterically. 

When I remember being the first person in the world to hold my son and daughter in my arms, a choke travels down my throat with bile rising like napalm. That is actually me devouring my own self-hatred mixed with sulfuric guilt. 

And I will smoke a cigarette, look at the stars, a whole hemisphere away. And just ask "Why?" After I try to blame it on the medication, or blame it on the booze or blame it on anyone else but me, I realize: I am not asking "Why me?" but rather "Why, me?"