I'm sorry I'm a cranky ass bastard sometimes. I'm sorry I'm short tempered. I'm sorry I snap and act like you're an inconvenience. You're not. I love you fiercely. I would give my last drop of blood for you.
That said, I'm sure you don't want my last drop of blood, you want to know if I want green beans or corn with supper, or to know when we're finally going to go down to the pool, without the sharp, snappish response. You want me to be jovial, gentle, respectful and considerate...
And I am! We have fun and we laugh and we go swimming and life is good! Generally. But those little moments, the moments in between things, when I'm just trying to continue existing and you want to know what time I think we should leave for that thing on Sunday... in those moments...
I'm a cranky ass bastard. I snap. I bark. I find myself launching into (usually short, thank the gods) little tirades about how I don't like being bothered with that sort of thing. And then I realize the shit that just came out of my mouth and I... Jesus... I don't know... I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I don't know how to proceed without sounding like a typical ass who just makes excuses.
I don't want to make excuses.
I am fundamentally conflicted, riddled with guilt and, while self-loathing may be a bit strong, some days it's not far off. I don't know how to do so many things. How to be so many things I think I'm supposed to be. All I know is that I am flawed and human and do my best and most of the time that seems so horrendously inadequate I don't understand why you're still here.
Maybe I just want you to understand so you will keep being here.
I don't know how to tell you that getting up, getting dressed and going to work, making it thru the day and then back home without 3 wrong turns is so exhausting and overwhelming that I have no filters. I have no defenses. Shields failed. What you see, for at least as long as it takes for me to spit out the words "I don't fucking care about vegetables right now", is pure, unfiltered, me. That's where I'm at and I don't have any way to keep it from leaking onto you... and that's not OK.
It's not OK with me, anyway... I should never be a cranky ass bastard. It's just not right.
But I can't stop it any more than I can stop my knees from giving out or my skin from peeling off. It's a byproduct of being in this body and all the challenges that entails.
It's not fair. It's not fair to you that I expose you to that side of myself. And it's not fair to me that I end up bearing the guilt that comes with doing so. I but I don't know how to keep it at bay. I am a super hero, gifted with the strength it takes to drag this body thru a day that would kill almost anyone else, but that strength ends up so taxed that the people closest to me are the ones to suffer the direct impact of my weakness.
I love you. All of you. So much. And it kills me that I can't make everything perfect for you.
I'm sorry.
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