How Did I Get Here, And Where Is The Next Turn?

Greetings and salutations to all who deem this worthy of your time...

Brought up Apr 19, 2015

Old Wounds

Some wounds are so old, and so deep, I wonder if they can ever heal.

Today some of mine I thought I was healing have throbbed to the point that I just had to write or curl into a ball.

How can someone create a child, look into that small, innocent face and then just walk away from it as if it doesn't exist?

I was such a child.

I was 17 before I met my father, and even then, he only 'wanted me' because my step mother wanted me.

He made it clear from the beginning that I was not part of 'his' family. He was cold, distant, and dismissed the serious problems I had with a snide comment.

I was all but screaming for help, and he acted as if I wasn't there unless there were conflicts with 'his' family.

And there were.

I admit, a lot of them could have been avoided, but at times I egged it on.

At least he noticed me when I fought with my siblings.

Yet, it was not all my fault we fought. I refuse to take all the blame anymore.

It was not my fault he walked away from me. Nor is it my fault that my anger spilled out.

Today, my father's uncle was buried. I don't remember ever meeting my great uncle, but I went for my great aunt whom I have adored forever. She is the only one left of her siblings now.

I realize a lot of what I feel at family gatherings is just that, my feelings. Still, is it my fault I feel like the turd in the punch bowl around most of them?

I think not.

I have never 'fit.'

And none my begging and pleading with them, God, the dead and myself is going to change that.

I often say I march to my own drummer.

Problem is, my drummer seems to have ADD, and only one drum stick.

Today was hard because I, once again, distanced myself from most of my family.

I spoke to a few, hugged my aunts that I knew I could hug, and after a few small attempts at being friendly, avoided the rest.

A few hundred whacks with a news paper will finally get the point across with even the most stubborn puppy.

I don't fit.

That may seem like wallowing in self pity, but it isn't.

It's a realization.

It's an opening of my eyes.

There are just some of my family that don't care much me.

I get that now.

It's a bitter pill to swallow.

But I am.

Won't say it doesn't hurt. Not the way the tears are rolling at the moment.

It breaks my heart.

To finally realize that people I would gladly die for would throw gasoline on me if I were on fire, is pretty hard to deal with at the moment.

Okay, it's probably not quite that bad. They'd just turn and walk away. Say I probably brought it on myself, and deserved it.

The thing is, I wish I knew what was so awful about me...

Knowing my father cared little for me makes me want the rest of my family to make up for his lacking, I guess.

Stupid idea.

My rational mind says that there was/is nothing wrong with me to make my father turn his back on the baby I was.

The broken child that still whimpers inside doesn't get that.

The man has been dead a few years now, and she still begs him to love her.


What do I have to do to make her finally stop, let go, realize not only is it too late, but that there was never going to be that 'wonderful daddy' she dreamed of that would sweep her up in his arms and tell her he always loved her, always wanted to be with her?

The knight in shining armor that would slay the dragon only existed in her tiny imagination.

I think that is more the source of what drives me into my self loathing than anything else.

Pardon my language, but, how the fuck do I make it stop?

I am so sick of carrying all this crap around.

"Just turn it over to God," didn't work when I was a kid, nor now.

"Just let it go and forget about it," hasn't either.

"You just want to wallow," are you fucking serious??

I have heard different versions of those three most of my adult life. Most of the time, I want to punch the speaker in the throat, to paraphrase my girl brat's favorite expression.

The thing is, if my father had been in my life as a child, maybe a lot of other things I dealt with would not have happened.

That is the real clincher.

Maybe that is why I am so angry. He should have been there to protect me.

He wasn't.

When I told him a few things, he brushed it all away.

"It's over and done. Get over it."

Thirty plus years later, Dad, and that still doesn't work, either.

That is the deep, festering wound that I need to tear open and drain.

I may be his daughter, but I am far from distant and cold. I can't just walk away and pretend it doesn't exist, as he did.

I am fiery, fierce, loving, kind and bold...

I need the wound healed.

I need some peace.


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