Where in the darkness lies, the silent tears of a man in pain.

Crying alone it is to be
never letting anyone see,
How I hurt, how I suffer
I pretend I am tougher,
It is by far the better
to seem to be the go getter.

Always trying to be bright
shelve it all for the night,
No one sees, no one knows
they see, smiles and glows,
Suffer this in utter silence
or pay the price of penance.

Bound in chains of despair
to tell all I do not dare,
Stupid me, it is my fault
because I’m always such a dolt,
Why can’t I just be normal
stand up straight and be tall.

Everyone is selfish in life. Even if they aren’t, they will be perceived to be. I claim to be a good selfless person, but sadly the truth is, because I hide it I’m probably the most selfish of all. I’ve been angry at my father for years… probably since they day I learned to say dad. He’s never been a good father to me, he was barely a husband to my mom, and a vindictive ignoramus to my brother. He left my house, and to a degree my life when I was 16, and somehow that hurt. I thought it shouldn’t so I kept it hidden away, and still do. When I was almost 18 I tried to have a relationship with him. The bulk of our conversations of the last 3 years circled around how my he disliked my mom and how much money he didn’t want to spend on me. I tried to tell him so many times that I didn’t want to hear it, that it wasn’t my business and that it wasn’t my place to mend this wound for him. Well, my mom recently moved back to Ohio and it has been easier to go to her house than suffer my dad. He called me out on it Christmas day and told his family that I was good for nothing and ungrateful. In response, I left him a letter on his kitchen table saying that I wasn’t going to talk to him anymore. I was selfish to hold on to the pain and anger, I was selfish to not visit him and listen to his woes, and now I’ve caused a rift between us that I don’t think either of us can mend. You’d think that this wouldn’t matter much to me given my history with him… I thought the same, but I cry for it now.

There is really only one person whom I can talk to, other than myself in this journal and in my thoughts. Of course in my loneliness and hurt and silence of the night I would turn to her, but she turned from me. I don’t think on purpose or for any reason other than she wanted to sleep, but she turned from me… and I cry for that too. For in the dead of the night, I’m truly only left with myself and God, who only gives comfort when it would glorify Him. His plan it great, His vision is long, and I am left alone.