Thursday, November 20, 2008

The Repression of the Sickness Within

There's so much I want to say, and so little time to say it in. Isn't time weird? So, where do I start? Where would anyone start?
I'll begin my story with the last time I saw my dad--a few days ago. I don't know if I've wrote this on here before, but I want nothing more to do with him. He's messed with my life and me enough. Why'd I go to his house for dinner, then? Two words: my brother. I'm doing it for him. Our family is going through a lot right now, and I don't know how much more he can take, so instead of getting into the same old arguments about how I should "change my attitude" about our dad, I went over to his house. I did that, instead of enduring this:
"You haven't endured a tenth of the shit I have from our father, Brian. He's an asshole to the ninth degree! I don't want to see him, hear him, or talk to him! So why would I go over there for dinner? I mean, really, Brian!"
"Okay! Whatever, Sara! Get OVER it already! He may be an asshole, but he's still our DAD! Grow up!"
'Grow up!' Really? Hmm...
How do I grow up when at the age of ten I became more mature than my father? He's stuck at the age of two while I continue to excel in maturity and in my life.
You're rolling your eyes and asking, "Okay, we get it, but what's the point? Where are you going with this?"
Hmm... now that I think of it, I'm not really sure that I have a point. More like a need to get this out of my head. Is that a good enough reason? To get rid of the twisted sickness he's left inside my decaying skull? I digress.
Oh, and another reason I don't want to see him, hear him, or talk to him--I will not be sucked back in by his manipulative games. Never, ever again. I've wasted 18 years being controlled by him. And the last 2 years, I've been sucked into his games again... and again... and again. Well, I've had it--I'm done.
I've pretty much told him this--that I want nothing more to do with him. So what does he do? Pretty much invites us over for dinner ALL the time. Why? He's trying to butter me up, get me into his life again. All out of other flowery remarks, he tells me "I knew you would blossom when you went to college!"
"Aw, what a loving observation!" you're crooning.
Yeah, maybe... not! Even if he did mean it, how the hell am I s'posed to trust that he really, and I mean really, meant what he said? How can I tell? He's said so many hurtful things: "You have a black heart, a dead heart, Sara!" and he's done so many painful things: "I said, you are going to wear this! No?" Smack! Actually, it wasn't a smack; it was a slam--he lifted and threw me against a rack because I didn't want the cheapest, ugliest pair of pants ever to be donated to Goodwill.
So, you tell me... does he really mean what he said, or is he just playing another game?

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