A couple of days ago I wrote a story that included a small part about accountability. It was semi-based on my real life. In the story, I tell my Disciplinarian that I have missed my goal of writing every other day, twice. Funny thing, I just looked here and looked at the dates I have posted. I have actually missed the every other date, twice. It is a true goal I have set for myself and I do try to stick to it. Sometimes it feels a little like I am cheating because my awake and asleep schedule is a little whacky. Some times I do end up posting on 2 different dates, but it is all in the same period of awake time for me. Actually only a few hours apart. Is that cheating?
I have been avoiding what really is running through me. Filling the page with other things. Distracting myself or maybe protecting myself.
So, let's just start and see where this goes. I was given to my father as an infant. My biological mother didn't want me and he had recently married another woman. He couldn't marry my bio-mother because she was his Aunt. The woman that he did marry was already pregnant and got saddled with me joining the household. I have been told stories that did not make any sense to me about my early childhood and infancy. None of it made sense until after the person I knew as my mother passed away a little while ago and I found out then my true roots.
Normally, I don't write with a specific person in mind who is reading. Tonight I am. I am specifically writing to You.
I understand now that I was unwanted. Unwanted by my birth mother as well as by the wife of my father. I was told that I rejected my *mother* (the one I grew up with) right from the very start. That I wanted nothing to do with her and only my father could calm me down. Seemingly, I already had a bond with him before he ever married and I did immediately become Daddy's little girl. My father was a violent man, a biker for a time and in jail as well. I saw him beat my mother and my sister. I saw horrific things, no child should ever see. But, this was simply, home-life. I watched my dad while stone cold sober shove spaghetti down my sister's throat because she made a comment about having left-overs for dinner. He would snap like that without warning. And, when he was drunk, it was way worse. He was mean. He was cruel. But, dammit, at the same time he was the person who loved me, took care of me, never hit me, never visited that side of the cruelty on me.
I am in torment at the moment trying to write this. I have pushed myself to look honestly at who this man was. This person that I belonged to. I love him and I hate him. Never have I been able to say that I hate him. NEVER! He was all I had really. I didn't know what else to hold on to. For a few months now I have been trying to break that hold. I want that hold on me shattered! I can't be Daddy's girl. I just can't be and I hear a part of me saying that I don't know how to be anything else. I know that of course I can be and I am something else, I am simply Crie.
My father and his friends and my own bio-mother sexually abused and used me as a child. But that same man, held me on his lap, took me for rides on his motorcycle, taught me to walk on my hands and gave me any thing I ever asked for. I was that privileged kid that had it all and could do it all. Anyone who knew what was going on behind the scenes didn't dare say anything. I know my father's fury would rain down unmercifully. He beat the crap out of people for just looking at me wrong. The world I was in was violent. He was violent. Here I am, gentle, compassionate, giving, quiet, rebellious, stubborn, silly....someone in society who is so very different from the one who truly raised me. How? I fought as a child with other children to stop the bullying that was taking place because `I was so little. I may have been little but I unleashed a fury a couple of times that made the bullying stop. After the 7th grade, I have never struck a person in my life. My dad went to prison a couple of times and I was my mother's nightmare. Left alone with her and not having him, seems like there should have been some peace, but there wasn't. I already hated her by then and would not do a single thing asked of me. My dad taught me well that she deserved no respect.
Now, he is dying. There is a DNR and he could begone tomorrow, in a week, a month, or many months from now. His entire body is failing. God help me, I just feel numb. I know I don't want to see him and I sure don't want to go to a funeral. I am afraid that I will cave in and go back there. I know it is the WRONG thing for me. In my conscience, socially, it feels like the right thing. The good girl me says , yes, go. The rest of me yells out no, that it is the worst possible decision I could make right now. I can't remember a time where I have ever wanted someone to tell me NO and mean No, more than I do right now.
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