The ventening
So it goes like this:
My father, way back when, decides to buy an El Camino without telling me about it. That's fine, he can do what he wants with his money. In the process, he sells the truck (a nice new 2000 chevy truck) I was driving at the time. Okay, sure, it's his car, really, I'm okay with that. Fast forward a few years. I'm headed off to college, and really need a car to drive while I'm up there. My dad offers me the chance to drive his car, the Sebring, but it would probably mean that we would end up selling off the El Camino. I know my dad really loves the El Camino, that he always wanted one, that the car means something to him. I wanted to keep it in the family. So I, against my better judgement, take the El Camino. Fast forward a little longer - things aren't really working out for me. I'm in what more or less constitutes a constant state of depression, I'm completely without motivation, and life just keeps wearing me down. In hopes of solving at least one of my problems, I take a break from school. It presents no real solution, and another semester rolls around and I've still not come up with a way to really fix things. Another semester rolls around, and one thing is better - I'm making some money, and that's nice. But I'm still not quite feeling right, and I still can't make myself go back to school - I'm still not in the mental state that I need to be in to do well in classes, and what sense is there for me to be in classes and just do poorly. But something's different. With this new semester, I get some new resolve - I'm doing better. And then my car gets stolen. And it just... shatters me. All that resolve I had, all those plans and ideas are just gone. I try to fix things, but somehow I get it in my head that if I wait until proof presents itself, I'll be better off. And then proof presents itself. And, really, I was finally managing to get things 'fixed.' But apparently not fast enough or well enough for my father, my father who isn't even in the same country to help me. No, apparently I've been dragging my feet about driving out to get my car, something I have absolutely no control over. Apparently it's my job to pay for my past mistakes and his past decisions right now, at the worst time possible.
They found my car. But the entire interior was stripped. Chances are, it's probably going to constitute enough damage that my car is going to be totalled. Chances are, I'm not going to be able to get enough money out of my insurance company to pay for the repairs. And my dad's response to all this: good luck with a new car, I'm not helping you. Never mind that his decision to buy the damn car in the first place is the reason the car's gonna be totalled from damage like this. Never mind that I did everything I could to get the car moved once I knew what was going on. Never mind that right now, I need the most support I've needed since my mother died... and my dad is doing anything but.
Damnit, I wasn't the one who wanted the car in the first place. If that other truck had been stolen, I would have been fine getting it repaired. Damnit, it wasn't really my car that I took with me when I left for school - it was my dad's El Camino. It was, at least I thought it was, his desire to keep the car that left me with it. No, I didn't call in the theft to the insurance company right away. I thought it would be easier to deal with if there was clear proof that the car was stolen - and what clearer proof than time. So that was wrong. It turned out not to change a damn thing, now did it?
And I really hate the fact that all this crap is putting a strain on the one thing in my entire goddamn life that isn't broken, or breaking, or wrong - Anne. I really hate that this is exactly the kind of crap that my sisters are mad at my dad about. Because I don't want to be mad at my dad. I love my dad. I don't want to do what my sisters have done. But... it's really really hard not to right now. Because, yes, we're adults, but that doesn't mean we don't always need our parents' support. And Dad's all we really have (although, yes, Sharon has done a million and one things for me, and I appreciate that, but it's not the same). And... it really hurts when you just hear what boils down in your mind to, "You're hurting, and you screwed up. Good luck with that."
I couldn't tell my dad all this on the phone. I remember what it was like hearing my sisters yelling at him, furious with how he was handling problems they had. I can't do that to my dad. I love him too much. He deserves more than that.
And I don't expect all this will change anything. But it's made me feel a little bit better, for now.