My heart is in the colour of opaque today. No clarity.
This daddy issue. Not that he hasn’t provided me. He has provided and still is providing shelter for me and the kids. Most of the time he will treat them good food when he’s around. But when he isn’t around, I can breathe better. Just because our communication is broken.
He is absent. But when he is present, he demands coaxing from all of us. Rudely demanding for attention and unconditional loyalty to serve. Bantering for his type of food and juices. Just pacing across the house like he owns it when he doesn’t attempt to own it. I sincerely stopped caring.
The one-liner communication he would speak of when seeing me EVERY TIME would be, “Have you got ice cream?” And I’d be, “No,” and retreat back to safety, my bedroom.
At this point of time, I know that I have no respect for him. He is my dad and I should respect him as my dad, but I don’t. I have lost it over the years. And to keep my heart from hurt, I keep forgiving him for his mistakes.
He is a travelling philandering man who is still married to my mom. When DH asked for my hand in marriage for the second time, my dad told him that it’s okay to date other women, just don’t promise them marriage. DH also told me not to share with others.
Yes, we are of no value to him. All his children are all of no value to him. But he wants to valued.
It is only my chatty Cancer-Leo cusp sister who can coax him easily. But he cannot get through to me. I have risen my hands above all hoarding, all pretenses, all face-value things and seriously, I don’t talk much. I’m like this sulking gnome sitting in the corner of the room just condensing everything but I would completely reject these chaotic auras.
I know I’m different. I was carried in my mother’s belly in a different condition. She went through depression but still would deny that she did. I speak when I feel I ought to. I will help you if you sincerely need me to. I need you to be sincere with me.
You just cannot try to control other people if you are doing it just because of guilt. That’s unfair.
So last night, as usual for the past 2 weeks, he came home late nearing midnight. This would usually happen when he has girlfriends who are usually younger than his own children, to entertain. And so because he was late, his car was out the farthest. We park in 3 layers, 2 cars in each row. There are 4 cars in the household. So he was a jerk this morning when I asked him for his keys – his car was blocking the pickup to get to school. He eventually tells me, his car should be in the 1st layer so that means, we would have to line up 1 wagon, 1 pickup and 1 4-wheeler in one line just to make space for him. I told him I’ll park my car outside on the street and left.
I’m just so sourful. I know. Each time we talk about something to change in the house to make it nicer, he’d say to wait for him to die first. Even to drive his car, to wait for him to die first. Well, he didn’t die this morning, did he? Such menial dramas that are so exhausting for me to even walk by.
Truthfully, I have guilt for feeling this way, this resentment towards him. He made half of me anyways. He has provided a roof. But resents it when my mom spends more time to bake and cater to accommodate expenses for the house since he doesn’t provide much monetary because she isn’t able to serve him like a king. He has to foot own likings, right? Also because of my reaction or any of the others are with him, it spills onto my mom. At least gone are the days when he would lock my mom out of the bedroom just because someone said a one-liner of something that hit him in the face.
Writing this has helped some clarity. It is a confession of the heart. That somehow I feel bad about writing because it is about my own flesh and blood, the man that my mother taught never to hate. But I suppose it is okay to be hurt then?
Perhaps this could be light to someone else reading.
Hugs to all of you as I hug mine.