Made my skin a little bit thicker
Y is for "You live for the fight when it's all that you've got..."-Alex and Aaron and/or Amber-PG
For Waltzmatilda
He’d been raised to be a fighter.
That was maybe the most basic thing about him.
And he thought if you traced it all back, drew out a road map of his mistakes, it would all line up, every crappy decision was made because he was blinded by the anger that was constantly flowing through his veins like poison.
888888888
They sent him to a therapist. More than one, actually, in a desperate attempt to find an actual home for him since he clearly couldn’t stay in his.
Almost always a different one, because even people who got paid to deal with this crap couldn’t deal with him.
He already knew all about cycles of abuse way before the psych classes he had to take in college.
88888888
He would that there were other cycles that they didn’t tell you about.
Like how your dad left you, so you tried to play daddy for awhile and hold it all together.
Like how you left too.
How you were nothing more than a messed up shadow in their lives, really.
How you knew they were better off without you and wondered sometimes if that’s what he thought too.
888888888
Fatherhood was always kind of illusive, just out of reach.
He didn’t even really know if he wanted to reach out and grab it, or just wanted it because it was almost like candy being dangled in front of him before it was snatched away with hysterical pregnancies and babies conceived in test tubes he’d ever actually known.
He’d been an almost father once and walked out on it, so maybe this was just what he deserved.
Punishment to fit the crime.
8888888888
The shooting made the news. Cnn, the Today Show, Katie freaking Curic.
The nurses in the hospital that hadn’t been shot up were constantly going on and on and freaking on about it, because this was there big moment, and apparently Anderson Cooper was even dreamier in person than he was on tv.
He wasn’t that worried about anyone in his house watching CNN, even on accident, but someone would, and they’d say something, and once again circumstances conspired to screw things up for him.
888888888
He hadn’t had some near death experience where life suddenly had meaning and everything made sense and he was suddenly wise.
Or maybe he had.
Because suddenly anger seemed destructive in a way he couldn’t brush off, and also like a big freaking waste of time.
And all his regrets seemed like such stupid, easy things to fix.
He made the call to a number that had somehow never changed and almost couldn’t speak when she answered because in his mind she was always tiny, hair in pigtails, not all grown up with probably a lot of anger of her own.
But maybe this was a step, maybe this was how you broke the cycle.
And maybe he was fooling himself.
He was willing to take that chance.
For Waltzmatilda
He’d been raised to be a fighter.
That was maybe the most basic thing about him.
And he thought if you traced it all back, drew out a road map of his mistakes, it would all line up, every crappy decision was made because he was blinded by the anger that was constantly flowing through his veins like poison.
888888888
They sent him to a therapist. More than one, actually, in a desperate attempt to find an actual home for him since he clearly couldn’t stay in his.
Almost always a different one, because even people who got paid to deal with this crap couldn’t deal with him.
He already knew all about cycles of abuse way before the psych classes he had to take in college.
88888888
He would that there were other cycles that they didn’t tell you about.
Like how your dad left you, so you tried to play daddy for awhile and hold it all together.
Like how you left too.
How you were nothing more than a messed up shadow in their lives, really.
How you knew they were better off without you and wondered sometimes if that’s what he thought too.
888888888
Fatherhood was always kind of illusive, just out of reach.
He didn’t even really know if he wanted to reach out and grab it, or just wanted it because it was almost like candy being dangled in front of him before it was snatched away with hysterical pregnancies and babies conceived in test tubes he’d ever actually known.
He’d been an almost father once and walked out on it, so maybe this was just what he deserved.
Punishment to fit the crime.
8888888888
The shooting made the news. Cnn, the Today Show, Katie freaking Curic.
The nurses in the hospital that hadn’t been shot up were constantly going on and on and freaking on about it, because this was there big moment, and apparently Anderson Cooper was even dreamier in person than he was on tv.
He wasn’t that worried about anyone in his house watching CNN, even on accident, but someone would, and they’d say something, and once again circumstances conspired to screw things up for him.
888888888
He hadn’t had some near death experience where life suddenly had meaning and everything made sense and he was suddenly wise.
Or maybe he had.
Because suddenly anger seemed destructive in a way he couldn’t brush off, and also like a big freaking waste of time.
And all his regrets seemed like such stupid, easy things to fix.
He made the call to a number that had somehow never changed and almost couldn’t speak when she answered because in his mind she was always tiny, hair in pigtails, not all grown up with probably a lot of anger of her own.
But maybe this was a step, maybe this was how you broke the cycle.
And maybe he was fooling himself.
He was willing to take that chance.