So, I woke up last Saturday morning inspired and ready to face the challenges of life. This alone was miraculous.
I was dancing around my room, cleaning up and getting ready to draw some new cartoons.
Then I read a letter I just got from my father. In it, he calls me ungrateful, bitter and self-entitled, and that my predicament is all my fault because he told me not to move to NYC.
He doesn’t understand that I HAVE A DREAM. He thinks dreams are dumb.
The thing is that I AM GRATEFUL! I AM NOT SELF-ENTITLED! Well maybe entitled to some compassion from him. But I know he doesn’t owe me anything.
And yeah I’m bitter, but not about him.
I’ve suffered some debilitating depression and need help, that’s all. But to him, that means ungrateful, bitter loser, I guess.
I don’t know where he got the idea that I was so ungrateful. Don’t I tell you guys how grateful I am all the time? Well, I do. I hope you’ve noticed!
And my cell phone message to myself is: GRATITUDE. And has been for months.
But unfortunately, I guess I have not made my gratitude for my father clear to him.
I AM GRATEFUL I SWEAR TO GOD I AM!
And it sucks that he doesn’t know how grateful I am. It sucks for me, but it sucks even more for him. How sad. I’m so sorry for that. Sorry he doesn’t know how much he means to me. It’s all so fucking sad.
But yeah, I’ve fallen on very hard times. I like to call it severe depression, others like to just say I’m a loser. Feels like rock bottom but I know I could dig deeper.
Whatever the case, I had to ask dad for some money. I told everybody I would rather stab my eyes out than ask him for money.
I should have stabbed my eyes out. You make a lot more on disability that way, and I would not have been able to read that letter.
But I didn’t. I asked.
I waited until after the Packer/Giants game to ask because my dad is a hardcore Packers fan, and if they win he is ecstatic and if they lose, well, the opposite.
So I gambled and hoped that they would win. If they won, he would be in a great mood and everything would go more smoothly.
The Packers didn’t win that game. The game that would have led them to the super bowl.
I gambled and lost.
Now I had to ask him for money after they lost. Not only that, but they fucked up too, as I understand it. Which probably hurts a fan more than if they did their very best and still lost. (I don’t know. I didn’t watch. I was busy preparing my alternate plan - suicide).
Not only that but they lost to NEW YORK on their home field. OH THE IRONY!
So they lost. And I lost more. And so he wrote me a devastating letter. Just thinking about that letter makes my heart ache so hard I honestly think I feel it imploding. That letter makes me feel like the world’s biggest failure.
And, it’s a real letter you guys, the old-timey kind, ON PAPER, that I can hold and cherish and read again and again and again. Right now I’m keeping it in my wallet, but soon, I’m having it framed.
Thanks a lot for losing Packers. I hate you.