Being able to express is the point, but as I age I realize that 1) people believe what they WANT to believe, they see what they want to see and 2) if you can’t find a way to relate into someone’s personal experiences, it takes a stunning level of intelligence and perception on the receiving end for any sort of understanding to take place. It’s not impossible, but eh….
I’m jealous of the people I know whose dads bailed, took off when they were too young to remember it and never showed back up, or they’d call once every few years. I know A LOT of people like that, all about the same age as me. I’m jealous of the people I know whose fathers are dead. What a relief it must be.
Yes, please, start in on a tirade concerning your UNENDING love for your PERFECT father, and how DEEPLY insulting I am. Because my concern lies 100% with your damned feelings. I get you might be hate-reading (I’ve always gotten a lot of that, I had a complete stranger go off on my Xanga, back when those existed, because “all I did was complain” like biiiitch you’re the one clicking on my posts and reading them…this was about 13 years ago) but also like, I’m not saying i think everyone should feel how I feel.
It’s like imagining your sibling situation is different than how it is. Only children must do it a lot, when they imagine older or younger siblings who never came to be. Or someone who loses a sibling at a young age, they must wonder about them. I know i think about my Grandma every day. Or sometimes I think about how miraculous it would’ve been if there’d been a third sibling, and they were like me, and I’d have had some sense of stability in my house. My Grandma didn’t live with us (a lot of people thought she did because she was always around) so on the every night basis it was just chaos. The bad kind of chaos that someone causes externally because there’s so much of it going on internally. I know ALL about that shit because I’m very good at doing it. There’s no ‘good’ chaos but there’s this like natural chaos that happens then things figure out how to self-correct. But there’s no self-correction people like my dad. And, I fully accept and realize that my experience is my own, and there’s not anything inherently wrong with people (particularly women) who are overtly too close with their fathers. It all seems a little forced to me, but that is how bitter people think. It’s just like my dad would always do, he would read the most hateful, ill-intended messages behind your every word and action…it was almost terrifying. Like I definitely grew up into the sort of person who thinks everyone is a degenerate criminal out to get me and take some sort of advantage of me. No one is inherently good or nice and if they’re acting that way they’re probably disassociating or just trying to hide what a real asshole they actually are.
I’m aware my cynical yet optimistic bitterness is both my brightest charm and biggest flaw. I’ve always found I’m only appealing to a certain sort of person, that most people won’t get/like me or even make the remote attempt to do either. But the people who DO like me…they’re always way better than other people in some expansive yet not all-inclusive ways. I’m like a shitty person barometer. Have I mentioned that before?
So, no hate to those suffering the pain of the loss of a father/father-figure. My person father figure growing up was a conglomerate of 1) Television show dads I thought didn’t seem too bad – like Homer Simpson, Professor Farnsworth (I know he’s not the dad but bear with me), etc, 2) Literary fathers and biblical fathers, at least the ones that didn’t suck. Everyone is always like Abraham almost sacrificed his son Isaac, well there’s also a story of a girl who actually does get sacrificed, but you neeeeever hear about that one do you? I don’t know why but that seems sexist…wait…. 3) The make-believe fathers i made up, first when i was young it was through playing with toys then as I got older it was through writing. I started writing around….hmmm…I’d say the age of 10. I know I was writing short stories on my mom’s electric typewriter before we got our first computer, which was in…1993 or so. Then I definitely started grinding shit out on that thing, and did for years. You know, all the years I spent parenting myself.
The problem is, I do love my mom. She tried her best, she did what she could to be the best mom she could. She’s genuinely a good person, and I don’t really believe in those, and she just wants to love and be loved, like fucking MOST of us. Yet. Yet she stays with that complete psychopath. She told me that she’d almost left him more than once, but he’d started being nicer to her (sensing her genuine plans of flight, he’d fall back in line for the minimum necessary amount of time to hoodwink her into staying, and course he’d use religion big time to control and subordinate her. How original). And like…it ALL boils down to she wasn’t strong enough, she was too worried what people would say and think, and she thought he’d change. HOW many lives have been utterly wasted and ruined because of that wait? We ALL would have been so much better off if she’d left him when we were kids. My husband has pointed out that when you love someone, that’s not easy to do. But how can you love someone you meant to leave 6 times? He tortured all of us, he’s still at it, yet she’s WILLINGLY stayed and taken it for over three decades. Now she blames the fact that her mother and brother are gone, so she has no one to help her. She always blames something out of her control. She’s got the dissociative and complacent thing down PAT. It makes me uncontrollably sad, to think about her. Or my brother but he’s MUCH easier to dislike because he’s a shittier (somehow) watered down version of our father.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d drink and smoke weed so much if things normal with my family. But who’s to know?But there are times that I’m either 1) SO damaged that I had to invent the world’s craziest theory about myself to bolster my sense of self worth (possible) or 2) I’m starting to pick up on something I’ve known about my whole life. But either way, I feel like I’m preternaturally good at sensing the emotions of others. Is it weird to have always felt like I feel vibes more than most people? I’ve never ever talked about this, because it seems dumb and really does it really matter? But I all just stems back to the simple, simple rule “The damaged love the damaged.” I think it’s sensing something of ourselves in someone else. I kind of pride myself on my ability to assess what type of damaged someone is. But if you can’t tell, I pride myself on a lot.
I’ve always oddly had this strong sense of self esteem. Even when I was VERY depressed as a teenager, it was largely in part of knowing I was hot but being too weird and low socially for any worthwhile guy to date. I don’t think I’m delusional, because the things i pride myself on are very real. Like:
1) My appearance – I’ve only mentioned like 20 times how I’m more or less a 7 (or 8) depending on your standards. There are certainly prettier girls, but no one is going to be like Pft this ugly bitch, no one’s going to be like Pft I hate her big tits and ass (not possible, also I’m long-waisted and 5’9″).
2) When I was younger – my academic performance. I did VERY well through high school and most of undergrad (except math – my college math classes were taken with the understanding I would achieve the minimum passing grade and little else) and pretty well through grad school. My cumulative GPA for undergrad was like 3.6 I think, for grad school 3.4 I believe mostly because of ONE bitch professor rabid for tenure. They’re a lot tougher when they have something to prove.
3) My work history. I’m not saying I had some glamorous jobs. I still don’t. I’m in one of the least glamorous, least artsy, yet still legitimate professions there are, but I’ve always worked so hard and it’s nice to know my work/school history so accurately reflects that. I know I probably seem obsessed with mentioning it, but it certainly shaped my life, and that’s what this is all about, no? I guess I’ve said it’s about more than one thing.
4) How well read I am. I’ve read a generous portion of the Canon, and I’m working on a better improved one. One day I’ll open a library named after my Grandma and put the new improved and old canon and whatever else in it. It’ll have library cats and those with allergies can suck it. That’s more a life goal of mine than having kids or owning a house. It’s on par with publishing a few books (I have a few good ideas, and that’s more than what it takes sometimes, the writing can come naturally enough….look at what I do while I’m not even actually paying attention). Truth be told though, with the exceptions of Poe, Neruda and Blake….I DON’T like poetry. Well, that is to say I never bothered to try and appreciate it. I faked it for classes when I had to, but I avoided it at all costs.
And I guess that’s the general whole basis for my self esteem. It’s whatever. Make of it what you will. I’m not out here trying to hurt or intimidate anyone. I say that because I feel like a lot of times how I come off, as hurtful and intimidating. Gee. Guess who that reminds me of.
And we’re back to my original topic.
Daddy issues. Wish I had them, because that would mean he hadn’t been there. But there he certainly was, and still is. We’re at this stupid stalemate that I’m obsessed with talking about. Sometimes I wonder what will change/get worse next, and when, but most of the time I just try not to think about it.
People are all really good at not thinking about things.
Like…does anyone else find it odd that we don’t know what happens when people die?
ANYONE else think we should all know about this thing that happens to everyone?
Okay it could just be me. But there’s no point in obsessing over things that all boil down to a matter of faith anyway. But….at the same time….you can just dance back and forth all day with this idea.
But, in an effort to dissociate with what i was just talking about I made a phone video of my beloved cat Oscar. Maybe one day I’ll upgrade so I can download videos of my cats.