and you never come home

and the chaos became so overwhelming he did not now what to do.
so,
he,
created more chaos, hoping, praying that the latest crisis could overshadow the others
but the hardships conspire,
and each took its turn,
pounding
stepping on his chest
crushing his will
and now hopelessness so great
he sees only hopelessness

and he never comes home.

The stereotypes, creep in from the back of his head to blind him to the truth and make him think that
a man is supposed to be in control
a man is supposed to provide 100%
a man is supposed to do it alone
a man is not supposed to share his feelings
a man is not supposed to show weakness

with none of the stereotypes achievable
none of them fitting reality
his feelings of chaos now compete with feeling feeble and weak

and then one more piece of chaos arrives in the mail
he feels less than
less than
less than a man
less than a human
less than scum

and he never comes home.

and then the comparisons start,
he looks and sees others
the ones skinnier
the ones with a new truck
the ones with a better relationship
the ones with more money
the ones that spend time with their family
the ones that take time off work
the ones that are less addicted
the ones that are happier

happiness was lost over five years ago and nothing tried has been able to  replace it.
looking for an exact replacement for a work of fine art destroyed in a fire is impossible, and yet he still looks.
disappointed at each effort, and now he never comes home.

and he thinks the kids growing up so fast don't want him.

he does not see that they need him,
they desperately need him
they need that man that played catch
the man that came home
the man that had true friends
the man that shares his life
the man that forces a hug and kiss onto a boy too old for such things

and most important they need to hear his soothing voice as he looks at them with his crystal clear eyes and says to them "I love you"

and he never comes home.

like a battle to take a hill in some war, kids growing causes casualties and death.
dead are the days of the kids just waiting around for him
dead are the days of tickle sessions
dead are the days of carrying their small bodies up the stairs after they have fallen asleep on the couch.
dead are the days of them wanting him to be their whole life.

but like the battle for the hill has rewards, so do the growing children.

and he never comes home to see the rewards.


so steeped in his depression
so buried by his chaos
so much pressure from bullshit stereotypes
so much added ever week, every month
so alone

he does not see
see the kids so patiently waiting for their dad to come home
see the adults who have totally disrupted their lives for him
see the friends that are trying to hold on.

all waiting for him to come home.