19. Sorrow

Dear daughter, I am so sorry when I lose my nerve and yell at you, or talk to you as if you were an adult and I see your face of confusion and still I do not stop. My anxiety is such that I get driven by all my fears that I can not help you be a better person that the person that I have become myself.

Now you are a child, and you see me suffering, and you are nice and try to comfort me. I know it is not supposed to be like this. I should be always the one comforting you, not the other way around.

I am worried, because I do not want you to grow more worried about your dad’s well-being than your own. I wish you knew how to be a bit more selfish, and I know that you want me to feel better for your own good (so you do not have to face me screaming or angry again).

I know people can not understand this: I just do not know how to stop my darkness. My anxiety levels are super high. I have been living for almost three years in a city against my will, unable to change the situation, helpless due to my own difficulties in leading a normal, sustainable, emotionally balanced life.

My depression, structural buy alarmingly boosted by these three years of unhappiness and strangeness, is so constant that it seems invisible to most people. They might see me moody, or even bitter. I do not feel they understand what I go through. They live their life, and it is fine.

Dear daughter, dealing with long-lasting depression, insecurity and a certain level of misanthropy is super complicated and I wish you will not have to go through this. One of the reasons for me to write this blog for you is that it might help you precisely to not go my same way. Find your way. And detach from mine.

I love you little one. I feel terrible today, I did not treat you with love, and this paradox makes me feel very sad and ashamed of myself. I wish I knew how to fix this. I wish I had the energy and the drive to get away with all this and be a loving person.

I love you guguita.