(no subject)
When someone dies, you're supposed to feel sad...right? You're supposed to feel regret, guilt, sadness, ander, hurt...Well, I don't feel any of those yet. I suppose you're wondering who died, and it would be my father.
Which is kind of...well, everyone knew it was coming, What with his Alcoholism. But the kicker is that he's been pretty much dead to me my entire life. The last memory I have of him is being at his house, him not letting me call my mom, and asking me if I wanted to stay at his house for another day. I'm not sure why exactly, considering he's never given a rat's ass about me. I think it had something to do with controlling my mother. Power and control, right?
It's as if someone else's dad died. I feel like I'm on another planet right now.
When I was younger, I'd see a man with a big nose and think 'Oh my god! It's my Dad! He came to find me!' All I wanted was for it to be...well...a fairy tale, I guess. I'd daydream about if I ever saw him again. How it would be. How he would look. What we would do. What would we talk about? I've always hated it when people say they hate their dad. Hey, fuck you, at least you fucking have one. I'm sure there are acceptable reasons for not liking your dad, such as he's abusing you, or he just doesn't 'get' you. But you still have a dad.
I used to tell people my dad died. Because it was easier than explaining the whole situation. I always wondered when the day would come, where we'd get the call from his family, telling us he died. I always wondered how I'd feel.
I wonder if he ever thought of me. I wonder if he ever wondered what I was doing, or how I was. Did he ever wish for me to come see him? Did he ever wish he could talk to me? Did he ever wonder what I'd become? How I was doing in school? What about my friends, did he ever think about if I had friends?
I think about him almost every day. I always wonder what he's doing, how he is. I've always wanted to go see him, but at the same time, I never wanted to see him again.
I wonder if he ever thought about my mom. Wondered if she was okay. Cared about ANYONE other than himself. Or his booze.
I guess I kind of wish I knew him a little better. I also wish he knew me. I always wished he knew me, cared about me, loved me, etc. But I doubt if he ever did. I doubt he ever thought about me, cared about me, or anything like that. He never had the capacity to love anything except alcohol, power, and control. But those three words never go well together.
I hope his spirit is happy. Wherever it is. I'm sad that he died alone. I wonder what his last thoughts were. Last words. Last movements. Was his death slow and painful? Or was it so quick he didn't even realize what was happening?
Well, now that he's gone, his side of the family wants to get to know me better. But...I don't even...really know who they are. I have this whole other part of my family that I don't even know from a hole in the wall. And that's his fault. He didn't want them to see me.
I wonder how he felt when I was born. Was he happy? I don't think he was. The nurse took me out to see him, because of course, he wasn't in the room, beside my mom like he should've been. And he wouldn't hold me. She tried to put me in his arms, and he backed away. So she shoved me in his face and said 'This is your daughter. You'd better learn how to hold her.' So I guess that answers all my wonderings. He never thought of me, or wondered what I was doing or how I was. He never wished to see me. Never wished to talk to me. Never loved me.
Well. I always wished for those things. But more often than not wishes are just something to make us feel better. They never actually come true.
Which is kind of...well, everyone knew it was coming, What with his Alcoholism. But the kicker is that he's been pretty much dead to me my entire life. The last memory I have of him is being at his house, him not letting me call my mom, and asking me if I wanted to stay at his house for another day. I'm not sure why exactly, considering he's never given a rat's ass about me. I think it had something to do with controlling my mother. Power and control, right?
It's as if someone else's dad died. I feel like I'm on another planet right now.
When I was younger, I'd see a man with a big nose and think 'Oh my god! It's my Dad! He came to find me!' All I wanted was for it to be...well...a fairy tale, I guess. I'd daydream about if I ever saw him again. How it would be. How he would look. What we would do. What would we talk about? I've always hated it when people say they hate their dad. Hey, fuck you, at least you fucking have one. I'm sure there are acceptable reasons for not liking your dad, such as he's abusing you, or he just doesn't 'get' you. But you still have a dad.
I used to tell people my dad died. Because it was easier than explaining the whole situation. I always wondered when the day would come, where we'd get the call from his family, telling us he died. I always wondered how I'd feel.
I wonder if he ever thought of me. I wonder if he ever wondered what I was doing, or how I was. Did he ever wish for me to come see him? Did he ever wish he could talk to me? Did he ever wonder what I'd become? How I was doing in school? What about my friends, did he ever think about if I had friends?
I think about him almost every day. I always wonder what he's doing, how he is. I've always wanted to go see him, but at the same time, I never wanted to see him again.
I wonder if he ever thought about my mom. Wondered if she was okay. Cared about ANYONE other than himself. Or his booze.
I guess I kind of wish I knew him a little better. I also wish he knew me. I always wished he knew me, cared about me, loved me, etc. But I doubt if he ever did. I doubt he ever thought about me, cared about me, or anything like that. He never had the capacity to love anything except alcohol, power, and control. But those three words never go well together.
I hope his spirit is happy. Wherever it is. I'm sad that he died alone. I wonder what his last thoughts were. Last words. Last movements. Was his death slow and painful? Or was it so quick he didn't even realize what was happening?
Well, now that he's gone, his side of the family wants to get to know me better. But...I don't even...really know who they are. I have this whole other part of my family that I don't even know from a hole in the wall. And that's his fault. He didn't want them to see me.
I wonder how he felt when I was born. Was he happy? I don't think he was. The nurse took me out to see him, because of course, he wasn't in the room, beside my mom like he should've been. And he wouldn't hold me. She tried to put me in his arms, and he backed away. So she shoved me in his face and said 'This is your daughter. You'd better learn how to hold her.' So I guess that answers all my wonderings. He never thought of me, or wondered what I was doing or how I was. He never wished to see me. Never wished to talk to me. Never loved me.
Well. I always wished for those things. But more often than not wishes are just something to make us feel better. They never actually come true.