Tag: daddyissues

Dads and Dismay

Song of the Moment:

I AM OBSESSED WITH THIS SONG. I absolutely love it because it is the musical definition of my relationship with the men in my life my mother introduced to it. Fuck you Dads. This is how I feel about you two mother-effers….

Everytime I was right about you after all.

I used to say about my cousin Austin, “Oh, the poor boy. His mother used to promise him she’d come to see him, and never show. She’d lead him on and cancel at the last minute.” The more I thought about it though, at least she called to say she wasn’t coming.

My first Dad, Eddie, did not spare us that courtesy. He just never showed. I learned some of my flakeyness from my first dad. We cancelled and no-showed and didn’t call each other for months. Nothing was wrong, we just didn’t care. When we saw each other again, there were no hurt feelings. I didn’t expect him to be around. It barely occurred to me to miss him. My life was full enough without him.

I feel that way about my biological dad, too. I don’t have room for him. I keep him at arm’s length. Don’t call me, that’s what I wanted. Wasn’t it?

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Like Father

This movie gutted me. I absolutely loved it for as much as it inspired bittersweet feelings. First of all, I love Kelsey Grammar. Period. He’s an icon from my childhood and I also liked and related to the characters on Frasier since I was a nerd. My Granny and I watched the show together. Secondly, sign me up for anything with Kristen Bell.

But third and most of all, the title about Fathers is what got me. The movie is about Rachel (Bell), a girl who is getting married and her estranged father shows up at her wedding. She’s a workaholic and her fiance decides to leave her at the altar. She flees the wedding and ends up getting drunk with her dad. They end up on her honeymoon cruise ship, trapped for two weeks together.

I was instantly enthralled by the thought. It would be torture, or would it??? I clicked to watch the show and am glad that I did. It made me think about the connection with my own biological father. It made me think of both of my fathers, actually.

In the movie, Rachel says, “I’m glad you came and found me.” After twenty five years absent from her life, he randomly shows back up. They have heart warming interactions. They talk about why he left and she’s supposed to understand. Her dad was like her, dedicated to his business his whole life. At least he was a successful failure as a dad.

Some people aren’t so fucking lucky. When she said she was glad, I started to weep bitter tears. How can some people be glad to be reconnected with their estranged fathers, and I hate the fact everyday that my mother told me he is my real dad? I have such a weird mixture of feelings regarding him.

I have my mother on my shoulders. There’s not enough room for all his fuck ups and shortcomings, also. I hold him at arm’s length because I’m afraid to get attached. I don’t want him to use me. I don’t want him to have any hold over me. I can’t worry about him and invest myself in him. I am fully invested in my mother.

I read my One Day At A Time book yesterday, and I didn’t understand it altogether.

One Day at a Time

Quote

How can I not be so invested? Their problems are my identity. My inability to deal with their problems and make them better makes me somehow more of a failure as a daughter. As I type it, I see that’s ridiculous but that’s what I feel. A jagged wound inside, unable to heal my parent’s lack of love. They needed something bigger and better and I want to be the one to help them fill those holes— but I’m not enough. It’s not my job. That is so fucking hard to realize.

In the series Kimmy Schmidt the Unbreakable she talks to a picture of her Geena Davis. She picked a picture as her substitute mother. I think this all boils down to my desire to have the comforting, sensitive Frasier as a dad. When I hear his deep voice, I instantly feel a little better. He reminds me of my childhood. Is that weird or what? haha

Image result for frasier

Frasier would have been a good dad. My mom made fun of me for being well read and using my vocabulary words. Frasier would have encouraged me and admonished mom. How beneficial to have a live in therapist 🙂

Stranger and Stranger Still

My mother recently called me and informed me that one of her closest friends had committed suicide. She found out the day after it happened- just after the Fourth of July. We will call my mom’s friend Shirley* to protect her identity. A family friend called my mother and told her what happened.

Shirley and her family went to a party to celebrate the Fourth. Shirley was happily married with a son about to be married. His fiance was a blonde girl with two mixed children, a little girl and a little boy. They all lived together at Shirley’s house and the daughter followed Shirley around like a shadow.

It turned out to be a shadow that haunted her. Shirley lost a child twenty years ago. She had cared for and utterly adored a special needs little girl for eight years of her life before she regrettably passed. They say that she had been speaking about her deceased daughter more often lately. She was going through menopause and her mother said she suffered from depression.

Even so, no one expected what happened from her. There was an altercation between Shirley and another woman and they left the party. Everyone went back home. Shirley said she had to go to the bathroom, and asked the little daughter to stay in the living room with everyone else, she’d be right back.

She went down the hall to their bedroom. She collected a shotgun her son had gifted her and wordlessly carried it with her to the bathroom. No one noticed anything until they heard the shot.

Her body fell against the door. Her son had to hack at the door and break it to get to his mother. There was nothing they could do, no help to get. She was gone. Her mother-in-law and sister-in-law came to clean up the mess. Everyone was shocked and grief stricken.

My mother said it didn’t sound like her, she couldn’t believe it. I caught my mother in the throes of denial. She half way wondered if there could have been foul play. It was so utterly unlike Shirley to do this to her family. Her son was supposed to be wed the very next month. The family friend said that her husband was in shock and that her son was angry beyond belief. Who could blame him? My mother insightfully said, “But you know what? Being mad at her is probably what’s going to be what gets him through this.”

When we went to the Celebration for Her Life, I was touched by the amount of people gathered. There were well over a hundred people there. Her death touched so many people. Suicide robs everyone of you. It is so horrible. I know no one knows the pain she was in, but to see all her loved ones gathered makes you think about how you can’t take them for granted.

That’s what I was thinking as I sat next to my mother and squeezed her hand. But even as tears dripped down my face, they weren’t for Shirley. I was secretly terrified the same thing could happen to my own mother.  She lost her son. What if she broke one day, too?

Afterwards in the card, I even told her, “Don’t you dare ever do this to me.”

My summer has been saturated in death and mortality. So many griefs and shocks. My cousin passed away. We found out my Grandpa has cancer. My mother has been pressuring me to talk to my dad for her and I can’t bear the rejection of him not speaking to me. He can ignore her all he wants, but God forbid I try and he doesn’t. The fear of rejection is strong. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that.

My birthday was an affair to remember. The week leading up to it I was a bundle of raw nerves. All I could anticipate was based on past experience and generally my birthdays include crying at some point. Not Happy Tears. I lived in fear of my husband’s temper and belittling attitude and cried in dread of the day. I cried to my mother that I didn’t want to be alone with him because he’s so insensitive and I can be so fucking fragile.

Doesn’t sound like a happy marriage, does it? I have always struggled to get the respect I deserve. I actually specifically asked my husband to be nice to me on my birthday. I just said he always found a reason to yell at me on that day and it would be nice if he didn’t this year. He miraculously didn’t. He loves me, I know he was trying. I guess he actually listened for once.

After the debacle that was my birthday, we had another hurdle to jump as a family. Or so I thought. Toby’s birthday came so shortly after his passing, but we were all supposed to spend it together. It wouldn’t turn out that way.

On his birthday, I called my uncle and he informed me that my mother wasn’t invited anymore. His wife struggled with drug addiction in the past and now she had been found out again. She relapsed and blamed it on my mother. Yes, my mother had a part in it. But she was to blame also for imploding the family dynamic.

Now relationships are strained and we still haven’t all agreed to be in person yet. My mother and aunt had been healing old wounds before. My mother used to hate my aunt more than anyone and they were becoming friends over my cousin’s illness. Now that has been ruined again. My uncle is barely speaking to my mother. Rightfully so.

In tandem with this secret family drama, there is other family drama afoot. My Grandpa has the misfortune of getting diagnosed with cancer shortly after admitting to a life of lies with his wife.

My Grandpa cheated on her. She was willing to forgive him. Then she found out that some family members such as my mother were involved, and now my mother is a trigger in their relationship and she won’t let my Grandpa speak to my mother. He told my mother not to call or text him, he’d get in touch with her. It is heartbreaking what this woman is doing. He’s fucking dying and she’s cutting him off from his family. Her final, bitter revenge for ruining her life with a faithless man.

She’s right to be upset, but there’s a limit. They are bound to separate, it seems. She has been one of my Grandpa’s longest relationships. But he needs his family, and they need him, too. Everyone hates her even though Grandpa is the one that cheated. We live in a topsy turvy world.

To put the cherry on top, I finally had the courage to call an intervention helpline for my mother’s sake and was immediately discouraged. How could we ever pay for rehab? The answer is we can’t. I have to look harder for the answer but I feel so afraid. What if it doesn’t help? She doesn’t sound willing to go. So much effort in a doomed pursuit. I don’t know if I have it in me, and that makes me feel ashamed.

Welcome to my life.

Social (Media) Anxiety

Image result for social media

I hate social media. I have recently renewed my facebook account and started over. I was tired of seeing memories from years ago pop up in my feed. My page was not myself anymore. I am not all about family venues, friends, and adventure. I am all about anxiety, depression, binge-eating, and marital concerns.

I get depressed because of social media. I can mindlessly scroll for hours down my feed looking at what others have posted. For pretty much the duration of my relationship with Jacob, I have been absent from social media. I quit because it was too risky when I had an obsessively possessive new boyfriend. I had no privacy whatsoever; he looked through my phone and got paranoid at every notification, every ding. He smothered me and made me give up all my friends, and I did it because I was going through something in my life. I naturally went down a different path than my friends, choosing to fall into drugs and alcohol. My friends found other methods to cope with their problems, and bully for them.

I’ve been caught up in trying to forget my problems. I have been lazy and trying to get comfy living in my own hole of depression. When my depression is at its worst, I convince myself nothing is wrong and ignore everything fantastically.

Until I wake up one day months from now, and realize I’ve been on auto-pilot. I haven’t been paying attention. Weeks go by and you realize how little you care for yourself, how thinking of yourself and trying to tend to your needs is painful. It’s painful being aware of your shortcomings and trying to accept them. Better to be stoned and not bothered about it.

For a while.

There always comes the moments when you wake up. You look around and realize you don’t live the life you want to have. You realize you’re miserable and you were doing so well pretending otherwise. You didn’t realize you were such a good actor. Or worse, perhaps no one is paying attention.

Are you calling out for help? No, you’re too afraid to be yourself. How can you be vulnerable in front of people and admit you have hang-ups? Today was oddly strange. I worked the overnight shift & had a conversation I may not have otherwise. A girl at work confided in me her struggles getting therapy now and when she was younger. How candid I was admitting I had the same problem. How can you afford them? We talked about depression medication and the effect it had on us.  We talked about psychology. I would normally – never in a thousand years – admit to someone I don’t know well that I’ve dealt with depression before. There’s still such a stigma attached to mental illnesses, it’s daunting admitting that you have one.

No one wants to hear about my problems. I keep them to myself, and I drown in all the turmoil they cause me. My husband doesn’t like me to be honest with him. He would rather me keep things to myself. When I try to expose my deepest hurting to get some relief, he is incapable of providing the comfort I seek. He doesn’t relish me being such a deep feeling individual. His emotional intelligence is not quite on par with mine. He takes things the wrong way and gets defensive. We fight.

He resents my mental illness. He doesn’t understand. He takes my illness personally. He thinks we don’t have sex at long intervals because I’m withholding on purpose. I’m sorry but my libido along with my spirits are DOWN IN THE DUMPS & YOU’RE NOT HELPING.

I have a feeling that my anxiety, depression, and drug use are a question the likes of which came first, the chicken or the egg? Does my self medicating cause me depression, or am I depressed because I am self medicating? Does the weed cause or ease my anxiety? I know that when I quit smoking, I have to take more anxiety meds. My depression is much worse when I am detoxing. I become quite morose during sober periods. I take offense much easier. I am emotionally raw and sensitive to every little utterance. I require more attention, love, and support. I am a pain in the ass when I am sober. I hate myself when I’m sober.

I hate myself now, too, but it’s easier to convince myself I’m okay when I feel like this. I can ignore the self-loathing when I am like this.

About four years ago, my mother admitted to me that my dad wasn’t my biological father. This fact alone is jarring, especially when you have believed he was your crappy dad for the past two decades. A chance to receive your genetic material from someone else! You think it could be someone great, could be someone you would be lucky to know, maybe?!

You’re not that lucky. Imagine my dismay when my mother told me her alcoholic ex gang-banging Mexican lover was my biological dad? And she wants me to accept this, everyone in my family says it’s an opportunity for us to be a family together finally. My mother is over the moon in love and thinks I should welcome him with welcome arms.

When he finds out, he instantly wants to claim me. He suspected I was his all those years ago, but he wrote me off when my mother rejected him. He loves me and is thrilled at the thought of having such an accomplished daughter when he comes from nothing. He treats me like I am golden and stands up for me when my mom says unkind things.

He is surprisingly more like me than I want to admit. He is sympathetic and generous with his words- and who am I, but a fool that wants to listen to pretty words?

I’m starved for sentiments of love, out loud declarations of how great I am. No one tells me I am beautiful or amazing. No one appreciates me. No one wants to know the real me. But he does, and I hate him for it.

I would like to hate him, but really I ache for him. I want his sentiments to be true, for his actions to back up his words. But I have yet to feel it. I doubt it. I doubt him.

My father keeps invading my life. He sends me a message one day weeks ago and I still feel bad about it everyday. How to beg someone to leave you alone and spare their feelings?

Consumed by guilt and resentment. Want to forgive and move past things, but then I find myself taking one step forward and three steps back. I was willing to talk to him and have a relationship with him and now I am stingy with my time again.

Why should I make time and spend mental energy on you, what do I owe you? Why do you shit on my life and make me feel bad? You were absent for so many years, why don’t you just keep doing that?

I don’t want to expose myself- fuck you, you’ll only hurt me in the end. I know you’re not worth it. I know I will regret knowing you.

This is the stuff that is really on my mind. People think I am a cool customer, that I never get mad and just roll with the flow. I try to appear that way, but really I am eating myself up inside. I want to talk about my shitty marriage, depression, and dad issues but who wants to hear it? Who will be my friend when I am just so utterly down? It is my habit to turn away from depressed people, so I expect to be rejected.

Birthday Reflections

My birthday has come and gone. 26 started as good year for me. It was the year I got married. I should have taken it as a good sign when I went one birthday without bawling my eyes out. 27 was not such a lucky start.

My 27th birthday began horribly. I had to spend it with my angry husband and alienated biological father. My husband and I got into a HUGE HORRENDOUS argument over the fact that my useless father doesn’t have a vehicle. He had a 2 o’clock curfew for the half way house with no ride home.

Jake would not allow us to give him a ride because of the contents of his pockets. He had good reason to deny the request seeing as we never know what he might be carrying- but Jake has been pulled over exactly ONCE in the almost 4 years I’ve known him.  I figured it would be safe enough, so I argued with my husband.

I had a mental breakdown first thing in the morning since we were arguing about it as soon as we woke up. He screamed bloody murder at me in the car and told me he didn’t care about me. On my birthday at some point he inevitably suggests we shouldn’t be together anymore. He has a specialty in fucking the day up, always needing to bring me to hysterical tears.

I was bawling in the walgreens we went to pick a father’s day card from. My birthday was 2 days before Father’s Day. I was already late to my meeting with Johnny. That was traumatic in and of itself, standing in the walgreen’s greeting card aisle tears streaming down my face as my husband disrespects me and cusses me as I frantically search through the cards.

So many wrong cards for Johnny; Best Dad Ever, You’re My Super Hero, Thank You For Always Being There For Me Dad, I Love You. It’s more like-

Dear Biological Father;

I wish my mother had never told me about you. She kept the secret from me for over 20 years, what was the rest of my life? I would have preferred she took her secret to the grave. I don’t want to know you or love you. I wish you were a long-forgotten lover of hers. I wish you had remained a distant memory from her past. I wish you had never reconnected, or ever showed me any love. I regret knowing about you, and wish I could forget she ever told me about you. 

Be Gone.

On the way out of Walgreens, Jake threatened to throw me out of the car and leave me. He screamed more at me, and I bawled uncontrollably because he’s always threatening me with divorce, making me feel like I’m not wanted.

When we got to my mother’s house where Johnny was waiting, Jake went so far as to threaten to leave me alone. He got in the car and started it up. I stayed standing on the porch in front of the front door with my heart in my throat from my nervous breakdown and the stress of seeing my father for the first time in two years, before I collapsed into tears out of sight of the front window and by my mother’s front yard fence.

There were so many feelings mixed with Jake’s hurt he inflicted. I hadn’t seen my dad in two years on purpose. We hadn’t spoken, and I felt wretchedly guilty about shutting him out of my life. I felt ashamed of myself. I was scared to look him in the eyes. I was afraid he’d look at me with an angry or injured expression, and I felt like I couldn’t escape.

Instead he held me non-judgmentally while Jake was making me cry. His embrace was so warm and sincere I definitely felt comforted from my earlier breakdown. I cried in his arms, but I think he thought I was emotionally charged from seeing him again, which I was partly. It felt good to be forgiven without having to ask.

I hate him for loving me the way I want to be loved. No one has loved me like him since my ex Elizabeth and my Grandma. He doesn’t believe I can do anything wrong. I am golden to him, and it’s a fucking crying shame to be so revered by someone you cannot even bare to speak with.

It feels wretched to me, to crave his perception of me and his love, but to not be able to welcome him into my life. I feel like me and my parents are standing on two different sides of a canyon, I can’t love them even when I try.

If I want Johnny’s good, I have to accept his bad, and I won’t. I can’t. So if I can’t stomach his bad, I don’t deserve his good. You can’t pick and choose what you want from a person, you get all of them or nothing. And with Johnny, I find myself wondering how safe nothing is.

Is it worth this empty feeling inside?

 

Some Dads Don’t Come Home

After all the worrying I have done – after all the dread I felt knowing this day would come….. Fate still has a way of throwing me for a loop. My dad has been in jail, and I have purposefully alienated myself from him. I haven’t been interested to know him, or believe any word he’s said. He would say he’s going to be different, full of the Lord, that he doesn’t want to go back to jail. It’s hard to believe him, maybe he doesn’t right now, but they always forget. Someone who’s a repeat offender like himself.

I lived in dread knowing the day was coming, he would be out and I would have to face him. After months of silence and dejection- see his face, tell him, “I had nothing nice to say to you, so I just didn’t say anything.”

Now I have learned from my mother that he is out- and he is not coming back. I expected my mother would be there for him, and she would bring him home. He would move back in and they would go back to their topsy-turvy stupid relationship. First, they love each other one moment and hate each other the next. Not to mention all the drug use. I was scared of him sucking her back in, or vice versa, him trying to do good and her refusing to follow along, dragging him back down.

Instead, he has bounced from prison to a half way house somewhere in our city and he has not sent word to my mother or myself. He has disappeared without a trace. My mother inquired at the prison one day and found out that he had been released from there, and I cannot imagine her heart break. I worry about the woman all the time, and him not coming back to her has her on my mind more often. I worry about her. I hope she’ll be okay, I feel bad for her that her lover has….. disappeared like this.

I feel guilty. I feel bad. He got the message. I don’t want you. I didn’t, but do I still not? I feel some kind of void in my chest wondering how I have let him go. Have I done the right thing, was I a royal bitch? The man bears my name on his knuckles as a sign of his love, and this woman snubs him, a woman he wants to love. She won’t let him love her because his destructive life hurts too much. It hurts to be near, the love isn’t enough.

Did I miss out on something though? It is always nice to be loved, adored. I was a golden light in his eyes, and it’s hard not to be swayed by such a thing. No one has loved me like that since my Grandma and Elizabeth. Someone who thinks you can do no wrong, turns a blind eye to all your faults. I feel remorseful missing out on that. He just wanted to love me, and I wouldn’t let him. Couldn’t let him. Pushed him away.

Did I mean to push him so far?

Oblivious by Miniature Tigers

Lately I feel like a blown out birthday candle
One look in the mirror and I know the party’s over
And yeah, I want a big house
With a swimming pool
Fuck it, baby, I got you
(Fuck it, baby I got you)

I’m so lost in my head
It’s way too real out there
I’m lost in a day dream
Oh yeah, I don’t care

I’m oblivious, yeah

Spaced out in a daze I couldn’t hear you
The music drowns you out I didn’t care
Oh yeah, I didn’t care
I know you want a quiet house
With a lemon tree
I’m sorry baby, you’re stuck with me
(Sorry baby, you’re stuck with me)

I’m so lost in my head
It’s way too real out there
I’m lost in a day dream
I don’t care

I’m oblivious, yeah
I’m oblivious, oh
I’m oblivious, yeah
I’m oblivious, oh whoa

Your love girl, ain’t no dungeon
So tell me why do I run then?
Tomorrow you can scold me
Tonight, can you just hold me

Read more: Miniature Tigers – Oblivious Lyrics | MetroLyrics

Dear Daddy

I need a moment to mental pause my life. I’ve been  feeling more and more overwhelmed lately and unable to perform at work, at home, in Life in general. I had a four day rest from work, but it didn’t rejuvenate my batteries. I still feel quite ill at ease.

My dad is going back into the general populace someday soon, and the sooner the day looms the more upset I get. I am both glad he will be out and utterly dismayed. I dread having to face him- it’s uncomfortable to stand in front of a man who loves you, and sneer down your nose at him. Disdain. Unhappiness. Harbinger of chaos, you are my undoing. I loathe you, thank you for loving me, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I need you to step up and be better, climb out of the shit. Abandon your old skin and your old ways. Become someone new, a more improved version of yourself. Stop making me witness this train wreck we have now.