Dad, WTF?

I hate that when I get emails with hurtful words about me, my mom, my sister or my brother I break down. 

I had sent him an email asking what he wanted to do for mom’s big birthday this summer. I mentioned mom wanted a surprise and I would like to do whatever I can to make it great. 

I get an email back this morning basically calling my mom a bitch for being in a bad mood since her foot surgery. My dad is an ass. I have such a hard tome respecting him let a lone liking him. 

I love my dad when he’s great and caring, but 8 times out of 10 he’s jut an ass-whole these days. Seriously, he blows up in anger for no reason and blames everyone but himself. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had an heart attack. Not that I want him to have one, but he blows up so quickly, it wouldn’t surprise me. 

Sometimes I wish my mom and dad would move away. I don’t want to leave and I would like them to move so I wasn’t forced to communicate with them all the time. I love my mom and I wish she had more of a stand up guy as her husband, but she loves him and won’t leave him. I kind of wish she would, but I know she wouldn’t be happy. She would feel better about herself, but not happy. 

Her life are her children and her marriage. I would hate to be so far away from her, but if they moved I would at least feel free from having to consistently do what pleases them. I’m tired of feeling like I have to be 100% prepared to be myself when I’m with them. I feel like the way I think, the things I like, who I am, what I want to do with my life is always on the chopping block of “we don’t approve”. 

Days like today, I’m angry my dad even emailed me. I’m angry that I can’t just yell “shut the fuck up and be a man versus an ass whole.” When I was a kid I couldn’t wait to be older so I could cuss him out. It’s funny the things you suppress as a child. I had all but forgotten about that until almost six months ago. 

Why is he so mad all the time? Why does he never blame himself but forces mean, hurtful words on everone else just to bully them? That’s what he is, he’s a bully. 

I work in the same industry as him and sometimes it kills me when I hear people say “he’s a great guy”, because I know to his family and for the people that work under him, we know better.

I mean, he is a nice dad. He didn’t beat us when we were kids. He didn’t say “no, I would rather not take care of you”. He didn’t stop short to pay for our educations and keep us debt free. He didn’t (to my knowledge, though my brother speculates differently) cheat on my mom. He doesn’t beat my mom. He doesn’t get drunk. He isn’t that dad who reads your emails (though I might not put it past him now). 

I know I could have had it so much worse, but I could have had it so much better, too. My dad could be so much nicer and not call me bad names. He could have told us “we could do anything if we worked hard”. He could have supported our individual efforts to be ourselves and succeed. He could have been kinder to my mom besides just buying her love. He could have taught us lessons with encouraging words rather than yelling at us and pushing us into a place of fear so we chose what he wanted for us. He could have trusted our individual natures to find what we enjoyed doing rather than wonder how much it was going to cost him. 

I know my dad loves us and would be heart broken if something happened to us, but why does it have to come to that? Why would it take me coming out to them for my dad to show any signs of care he has for me? Even then he didn’t have it. He cried, but yelled at me mostly. 

I’m just tired. This is a huge reason why I wish I had round shoulders. I don’t care if I couldn’t feel anything else good or light spirited, as long as I didn’t have to feel this.

Oatmeal Tuesdays

I’m finally back at work where there is Internet, wireless radio and my new G1. Yes, all is right when I’m at the office in terms of today. Well, minus that cup of oatmeal that over flowed in the microwave, me being late to work and everything else that went wrong. 

To give a quick recap on Thanksgiving and my move they were all good but with minor problems. The move was successful and I’m well underway at finding my home with my new roommate. The dogs love the apartment just as much as we do and we have fabulous neighbors. 

Thanksgiving was a lesson learned in that I will NEVER stay the night for Thanksgiving again unless my brother or other family are staying, too. Upon arrival to my parents house my oldest dog (Molly) attached my parents 14-year old, no claws cat. No blood except for mine as I attempted to pick the cat up and step on my dog. Zoe (the cat) decides I’m not worth trying to help by BITING the hell out of my hand. Seriously, she made me drip blood she bit me so hard. Those damn little sharp teeth only did damage to me. As I’m trying to get the cat’s thigh out of Molly’s mouth I’m getting blood on Molly, my pants, the ground and my shoes. Good times. Then, because my dad has absolutely no social skills I hear him yelling and cusing at my mom around 10 about it. Instead of telling me, “Hey, I would rather you not bring the dogs in the house if you’re going to bring them out here,” he decides it would be better to yell at my mom. Yeah, not ever doing that again. 

So as I heal both emotionally and hand-physically I find myself here on a Tuesday morning eating boiled over organic oatmeal not wanting to work. I haven’t had Internet in forever and feel like I haven’t been on this site equally as long. I haven’t used Twitter in ages too, but now I finally got my G1 so now it’s back on, bitches. Okay, you’re not a bitch, but I just like saying that. 

I can’t wait until I can get this site figured out. I had it and then I quit. So not sure what happened. I think I’ll call it laziness. Yes, that’s its name.

“I Still Love You…”

Some times, I am jealous of those people, girls in particular, who have great relationships with their dads. Mine, I would call some what middle, but slightly destructive. 

In an effort to say what I felt, rather than keep it in, I wrote my dad an email on Saturday night at 4 am. I started out saying “I don’t like you” then I changed it to just say “I’m angry with you”. I went on about how his words hurt me, his inability to tell me I’m capable hurts me and I’m ready for a change. I tried to keep words like “hate”, “your fault” and “worst” out of the email. Instead, I said things like “you hurt me”, “I want things to be different” and “just tell me I’m a good kid”. 

When I was in college, my dad and I started our worst. There was one time I left a message on his voicemail in tears about why he doesn’t love me enough to just talk to me. I left him that message and we never spoke about it. 

I spoke with my mom about it this morning because I had sent it to their personal/home email. He hadn’t yet read it and she decided to do something other than leave it in email form. She printed it, put it in an envelope, wrote a note on the front asking him to pray before he reads it and to read between the lines and will be giving this to him to read on his trip out of town this Thursday. 

I don’t know what to think about it, actually. I’m tired of having to deal with this stuff, though. I’m over the tears, the pain and the frustration. In talking with my mom this morning we were able to say so much of what I had been thinking about him. We both know how he might, more possibly react to this letter. I told my mom he has one choice after this letter and that choice will determined our relationship. IF, he decides to become defensive and throw my sexuality in my face as a way to silence my reaction, I will keep a distance from him until he grows up. If he says “I’m angry, too with you” I will listen and we will start over. If he says  ”I understand” I will exclaim “we have here a new man” and praise him for it. The latter I fear will be not possible unless God softens his heart and makes him see. 

Here’s what I fear: he becomes angry by it, throws my sexuality in my face so he doesn’t have to admit he’s in the wrong. For that he will dangle my inheritance for buying a new home over my head and basically back me into a corner to telling my 75 year old, conservative grandfather of my bisexuality. I think he thinks I wouldn’t do it, but what he doesn’t seem to realize is I don’t back down from being pushed. I’m a big believer in open honesty and if he wants to start this with my grandfather (who I believe already has his thoughts on this matter about me) then I will. It will then spread to my family members and will spurn this whole conversation that I think he would have rather I never said anything. It will become a game of “will she, won’t she” for him and I plan to call his bluff every time. Perhaps that’s not the healthy way to go, but I don’t care. I don’t like feeling bullied into what naturally and legally mine. 

With that, I fear a great deal of conversations I really don’t want to have to have coming my way, but what else am I do? I’m not good at this whole “pretend it’s no big deal and just never tell them” sort of thing. I’m no good a living two different lives. My mom said to me this morning, “there are certain things you just don’t share with people.” She was saying that in reflection of her lift by the way she was raised to not share private details. I started thinking about it and have come to the conclusion I don’t have this. There is something in my brain that doesn’t think to do that. I naturally share who I am without fear because I would rather you know my dirty deeds than pretend I’m a saint or something. I don’t know personal discretion in this way. 

One gem of information is that my mom, a soldier in her own father/daughter war, said “You must learn to be strong even if he doesn’t respond as we hope he will. You must realize that it will be him missing out and not about you failing.” Love her.

With that said, I shall develop my speech and gather my strong, positive attitude and carry on until Thursday. If, and only “if” I hear from him will I know. My mom may call me Friday and tell me what he had to say on the phone while out of town or I may not know until his birthday when I force myself to drive out to see them. 

I don’t want him to feel like he’s a bad dad, but realize that I’m sitting here asking for a “do over”. I don’t want to mull over the details of wrong vs. right, but point out that calling me a “bitch” is hurtful and supporting me in terms of “you can do it” is crucial.

So It Is, I’m You

About a year ago, I sat in a high school auditorium, really early for church. I had mis-remembered the time and showed up at the end of what I thought was the beginning of the first service. After the closing of the first service and people started to leave I realized I had it wrong. I was new and searching for a place to worship. So, because I was there and not about to admit defeat, I stayed and waited. As I sat there for twenty minutes I read the handout. I never read those things because I’m in either too much of a hurry or just don’t want to. Seeing how it had my full attention for twenty minutes before I started scoping out the church hotties not with girlfriends, I read.

On the front cover was a story about this woman and her past. It started out in such a way that grabbed my heart. She was angry, constantly angry. She fought with her husband and her children. Yelling, throwing things and causing huge scenes. It wasn’t until one morning when, during one of her rages at nothing in particular, she saw her past threw her daughter’s eyes. On the floor, cornered away by the fridge was a crumpled piece of her daughter trying to be as far back as she could be. Crying and trying to remain unseen from her mother’s rage, she saw herself as a little girl in the same way. It took her back to her childhood and the pain she had from her father. Her story was much different than mine, but all the same her father played a big part in her break down. In years of counseling, she came to a place with God and herself where she felt safe, safe enough to confront her dad with the pain he had caused her. When she came to him in love, and truth he denied having ever hurt her and that she was making it up. He, after many years, never caved, but she moved on, let go and became less angry.

This story stumped me that I kept it around. I kept pushing it around my dresser, throwing it in the back of my Bible because I knew there was something about it I couldn’t throw away. I felt like I knew her. I knew, even then, that I was destined for this sort of break down/realization of what kept drowning me.

Have you ever watched “James Bond” and saw him go through a metal door? You know the kind, the ones that open in one quick steel-knife motion and close just the same? That’s what I think about when I hit college. Spring of my freshmen year, I walked away from the love of my life, my major and future plans. I don’t remember exactly when, but shortly after all those changes I felt the blade of the steel-knife like door close me from the rest of the world. My happiness, joy and hope walked out and anger, loneliness and broken spirit entered in.

Just ten minutes ago I had that moment. The moment that I saw myself and could have cried.

A little under a month ago I got a second dog (Pippa). She came to me not as I expected her to. She was dirty, sick and smelly. She was scared, very scared and completely un-teachable. I had rescued her from the same people I had gotten my first dog (Molly). Molly was a walk in the park, but Pippa was another story. I was patient with her and quick to start teaching her the rules. She soon got better and learned that inside is not the same as outside. Since I’ve added a second dog, Molly and Pippa have not stopped playing. They love each other and Pippa does what Molly does. I’ve noticed, though, that since the addition of the not so perfect dog I started training wrong. Snaps on the nose replaced time out and loud “no” replaced better correction. I kept thinking my quick to anger was related to everything else and that once I got over the many hills I had been on, I would be better. Well, I also thought that once Pippa learned to go outside we would not be doing accidents inside. I was wrong on both accounts.

Tonight was the pentacle of pottying inside. Twice I found pee spots (one old and one in action of). The second one I found myself very angry. I disciplined her quickly and put her in her crate. I was so angry because I knew she understood outside was good and inside was bad. What made me more mad was that she didn’t even let me know. She has thing to let me know she needs to go and I got nothing. What sparked this similar experience as with the woman I mentioned before was after I had put her in her crate, cleaned up the mess and what not, I went to her crate and just stared her down. My brain couldn’t wrap around anything but anger. I just sat there, said nothing and stared. She knew she was in trouble because she wouldn’t meet my eyes. It hit me when I realized I wanted her to feel bad. Yes, she’s just a dog and ten seconds after she did it, she had no idea why I was staring her down. I get that, but I can’t help but think the behavior I have towards my dogs is the kind I will have towards my children, so this discipline is very important to me.

I sat there and watched her eyes, her throat and her body. She didn’t move. She swallowed slowly and her eyes constantly looked to the left. Once I saw all those things I saw myself.

(That has to be the worst way to describe oneself as when they looked at their dog they saw themselves, but work with me; I’m going some where I promise.)

I saw myself after every fight I had had with father. I saw myself motionless, fighting tears – never looking directly in the eye. I can remember the “I’m sorry” after every hurtful word, after the time he grabbed me and threw me out of a room. I can remember him asking for forgiveness because of what that made him feel like inside, but knowing he would do it again in the future. I remember hurting and never letting it show. I remember thinking “one day…I won’t ever let him do that to me again.”

Today…tonight, in my anger, I became him. I wanted her to feel pain through my eyes. I wanted to deep within my person react in a higher, angry way, but (because I don’t abuse animals) I separated myself from her. I took a step back and realized I couldn’t use “house, family, job, etc.” as excuses to pretend my anger was just misplaced. I have no place for it. I need no place for it. Luckily, she is a dog and won’t remember that in ten minutes, but what if that had been my child? What if I had stared, yelled or displayed over the top anger to my child? I would have been repeating the cycle I never wanted to repeat. Sorry is great, but doesn’t cover the words you said or the hurt that they felt.

I am glad this is something my therapist and I are working through, but I never realized this until just these past couple of months. I never thought of my dad as a bad dad, but rather me as a bad child. I never wanted to see my dad wrong because he was my dad. I will say my dad is human as we all are and I can’t be angry at him forever. There are a lot of great things he did amidst the bad ones. It’s the just bad ones that burned more; caused more tears and the need for better healing techniques.

In terms of Pippa, well, she’ll have accidents (hopefully less than more). She will be out of time out soon and hopefully all the wiser of her potty behavior or cause me to steam clean my carpet, yet again. Ugh…dogs and carpet. The worst pairs in the world!

Let Go

You know that beating in your chest that seems to suck all the air out of your lungs and tie your stomach in knots? I get that every single time I talk to my parents. Ever since that conversation I can’t breath when they call , send emails or whatever. I don’t want food, drink or comfort. I freeze. 

Last night, I dreamt about my Dad. The dream first started out as he and I buying ice cream. We were in Hawaii and he had to spend some ridiculous amount of money on ice cream that I wanted. We were heading back to this place where my family was staying. Once we got there, we walked into a room full of people with my mom in the center. All of sudden my dad was in a meeting with these people and they were mad at him. Because my dad never takes the blame, he looks over at my mom and starts yelling at her it was her fault. In front of all these people he’s yelling at her and saying very hurtful things about her to the point where she’s crying and having to leave the room. I couldn’t take it anymore. I started yelling hurtful things back. Things that stung and made him more mad. He starts putting blame on me and yelling that I cost him so much money, that I was so spoiled. I keep yelling and saying things that get him to react physically. He pulls out a gun and tries to shoot me, but instead shoots himself. There were no bullets, so no one died, but he just wanted to get a reaction out of me that was full of fear. I woke up and was so angry. 

Dreams are weird, but that one hit a little too close to home. 

When I was a kid my dad and mom would always fight. Like I said, he couldn’t take the blame nor have a conversation so he would get angry at her. Right in front of us, he would say hurtful things. I hated it and would yell back at him to make him stop talking to my mom that way. Of course I got in trouble, but I didn’t care. 

When I returned from college my dad generously gave me my mom’s car. It was a four year old Lincoln and I loved it, but it was falling apart. It cost more money to fill up and maintain than it was worth it, but he wouldn’t give me the title so I could sell it for something more affordable. So, one night I went into the den and started talking to him about apartments. I wanted out so bad and just didn’t want to get in over my head. He starts yelling at me, telling me I have no idea what the real world is like and I have my head up my butt, so I was in for a world of hurt on my own. This made me mad. I have been the most responsible person (minus credit debt) and knew I wasn’t going to fail. I started back at him and said something about if I didn’t have that stupid car, I would be able to move out sooner, etc. That made him so mad, that he picked me up by the arm, threw me out of the room and yelled (for the whole house to hear) “I was an ungrateful bitch”.  He also took this time to shame me for my relationship with Anna and slammed the door in my face. That wasn’t the first time I’ve been called a bitch by him, but it still evoked tears and hate. I moved out within three weeks. I took the first thing that would take me. 

This morning I got an email from him about a devotional by Max Lucado. Nothing against Max Lucado, but the message angered me. When my dad was telling me how much he didn’t approve of my life he kept saying “God is black and white. You’re either right or your wrong.” Go figure that this devotional is about the same thing. I believe that God is black and white and you’re either right or your wrong, but you can’t just call a spade a spade when your whole body aches in hurt over what to do. 

Maybe it’s Satan telling me to focus on my anger for my father and use it to keep him at bay, but I have deep rooted hurt from this man. No person is perfect, but I made him out to be. He could do no wrong and I was always wrong next to him. I don’t like this mindset anymore. 

I hate it. Every time I talk to him (through email, phone or in person) I always walk away doubting myself. Regardless of how wrong or right my life is, isn’t it mine? Shouldn’t be allowed to figure it out for myself?

Last night, before I went to bed, I was praying and discussing things over with God. Well, I was discussing and He was listening. I was talking about everything that’s going on right now and I started to feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t sit still within my own skin. I wanted to run away and leave everything behind me. I started thinking I needed to leave the city, I needed to change my phone number, I needed to turn everything off. I wanted out of my own skin!? Does that not seem crazy to anyone else? 

I’m glad I’m meeting with my therapist today, but seriously…there’s not much more of this I can take. I feel powerless and completely unable to do anything right. I don’t have hope or even joy admits all of this. I’m exhausted once I come home that I just watch hours of stupid TV (on my computer) and then go to bed. I toss and turn, without real sleep and can’t seem to get up in the mornings. 

I want to say I can get through this, but it just doesn’t feel like I can. Now I know why people do drugs. It would be nice to just sit back and not have to deal with anything. That’s why my brother started smoking pott and while he depends on it today. It’s why my mom drinks more than she should and struggles with it today. 

I want to run away and blame everyone, but then that would make me just like my dad. 

God, please give me the strength just to have hope. All I’m asking for is hope, okay? Keep the joy and just let me have hope that it’s going to get better and I’m not going to screw myself up anymore? Sometimes I feel I’m my own worst enemy.