I don't want to relive the past, but at the same time I can't seem to let it go. I am hoping that by getting it out in this blog I am finally getting it all out in the open. No more lies or secrets.
A couple of months ago, before I had the courage to publicly post my words here, I started writing my book. Not a continuous chapter by chapter book, but more like entries of whatever I was thinking about that day. Not unlike what I do here.
My new found honesty still surprises me. That I am able to finally be honest with myself is shocking. Here is a sample:
I never knew I could be so inhumane. That I had the ability to shut my father out completely and so coldly for years speaks volumes about my character. If I could be this awful to someone who loved me and desperately needed my help, then I have the ability to fuck around with anyone. My mom, my sisters, my boyfriends, friends. The farther I tried to push my father away, it seemed the more I became exactly like him. I was so careless in my actions that hurting him became the gateway to all my other bad, extremely hurtful behavior. I was hurt and angry and since I didn’t know how to express myself in a healthy way (it would take years for me to admit that I was angry and had a problem), I lashed out the only way I knew how. It’s not that I didn’t realize there would be consequences; it was more that I didn’t care. My denial of anything real was problematic. I would avoid any sort of confrontation, especially when I was being confronted. I was a coward. I was insecure and purposefully blinded by ignorance and alcohol. I was my quietest, most private, and coldly calculating when I was sober. I was obnoxious, hurtful, and carefree when I was drunk. Nothing bothered me when I was high on pot or drinking. I would deal with everything tomorrow. But tomorrow, I would be drinking and smoking so I wouldn’t have to deal with anything today. I avoided my family. The guilt I felt from staying away was nothing compared to the guild I felt when I was around them. I didn’t wan them knowing just how badly I had fucked my life up. I ruined everything and created these people I don’t even know; these people who I certainly don’t want knowing me. The real, awful me. It is my fault that eventually both my sister’s relationships with my father suffered severely. Thanks to me, when he died he had absolutely nothing and no one left. I should be proud. Just doing what you taught me dad.