I’m watching the Glee funeral. I’m sitting at VDog‘s house with the cracker husband and the cracker dogs. And I’m afraid I’m going to cry. And I’m just not down with the ugly cry in front of Cracker Warrior.
I don’t know when my relationship with my Dad went to hell. I have not pinpointed the first time that I felt “less than” because of him. I know it was before high school . . . maybe in middle school . . . maybe earlier . . .
On a Friday in October 2006 I said, “After he’s gone, I’ll start going to therapy to fix all the daddy issues.”
The next day I was told by his brother’s wife he had cancer.
The day after that I was told he did not. I was yelled at by his girlfriend for telling lies. For telling my brothers. For upsetting him.
I was pregnant. I was tired of being jerked around by the bitch in his life. I was sick to fucking death of him not dealing with me directly. Of letting him put someone, ANYONE else ahead of me in his world.
I shut down.
The endless cycle of me feeling unimportant, second best, unappreciated . . . then trying again . . . and again . . . and oh my God again.
On December 28, 2006 he called and tried to small talk, but I could hear the other shoe in his hand . . . waiting . . .
“Well, I have it.”
. . . to drop.
I did not see him until August 18, 2007.
He went through chemo. I never went to see him. I’m sure I called some. I talked to him on the phone about being pregnant. My relationship with him was . . . fine.
But there was that bitch girlfriend who would call also . . . saying hateful things. Who would email . . . writing hateful things.
Which kept me pretty shut down.
Which . . . raise your hand if you would list “backs down from a fight” in your descriptions of me.
But with my dad . . . I would and will shut down.
I relinquished all control and responsibility. I was the bad daughter. I let that woman work her way in – and she abused him and controlled him and while I will always believe she killed him with neglect . . . I believe I did too.
I believe if I would have stood up and stuck my nose in that I would have been able to make a difference.
Him dying didn’t end her abuse – it only gave her more opportunities to continue her verbal abuse of me.
I quit answering my phone . . . I changed my phone number . . . I blocked her email . . . she found my blog . . . my friends’ blogs . . .Â Â she made horrible comments . . . I blocked any IP addresses that might be hers .Â .Â . I password protected any posts that mentioned my dad . . . I shut down and threw up walls .Â .Â .
I lost myself in depression . . . in distractions . . . I disconnected from Alex . . . from Scout . . . I flipped my life upside down last summer and landed in a relationship with the DudeÂ . . .
Last night, I spent two hours on the phone with a friend. Midway through he said, “No relationship is going to change the giant fucking hole left in you by your Dad.” I teared up. He didn’t quit. “I was there in high school – I saw it. It was NOT a quiet thing, it was SCREAMING off of you.”
I have to fix this. He’s dead. I’m not. I pretend my issues are shoved in that casket with him. But that’s bullshit.
I gotta figure out who the fuck I am. I have a beautiful child who needs me to be whole. I will use him as motivation, but I gotta quit feeling this horrible and worthless and unloved and second best inside.
This song is for me . . . and for every single one of you who may read this and look away . . . because it’s too close to your own home . . . because it threatens your own security . . . May we all hold on to ourselves . . . cuz this is gonna hurt like hell.