To My Father.
The silence from your end is deafening.
We have been here before. At odds with each other. Having purposefully extended periods of zero communication between us.
We have screamed at each other. Cursed each other. We have had physical altercations where you, in a fit or rage, have wrapped your fingers around my throat in a god honest attempt at squeezing the life out of me. Like. In the moment that was real. An honest reaction from your brain in response to the anger and rage that you harboured towards me.
Something that you, for whatever reason, will never ever be able to talk about or address with me. But rather prefer to leave it in the past; pretend it didn’t happen.
Our roads diverged a very long time ago. It’s okay. These things happen. But just because we are blood. And you think yourself my father. Does not mean that we are forced to make the pieces fit when they so clearly don’t.
This. Whatever the fuck it is. Isn’t working for me. It hasn’t in a very long time. There are moments where I believe that it never really did. On my end, every single interaction I have had with you since age 15 has been forced. Has always left me holding all these feelings that I never know what to do with.
There was a time and place where I would obliterate my consciousness with any substance I could get my hands on. Just to get you out of my mind for even a few hours.
You will never know or understand how many times I destroyed myself because of you. The feelings or memories that I have forced myself to carry all this time. Unresolved. For the simple fact that you refuse to take responsibility for your part. Or even talk about what happened.
This posturing of yours doesn’t work for me, either. You want to pretend something isn’t, when it is. That is fine. That is your choice to make.
But this. This is my choice. I will not die carrying on this one sided grudge. Holding onto anger and unresolved feelings. Holding onto a hateful malice that literally darkens my soul a bit more every time the flames are stoked even a little. I release myself from you. And you from me.
This isn’t a click of the fingers type thing. I have decades of unresolved stuff inside of me that I will slowly and careful have to take apart and resolve myself. But. Free from waiting for when it will be a good time for you, and free from all the complications that arise from dealing with you on an ongoing basis. I can do what I have always done. And just fucking do it.
If your way works for you. Then it works. I genuinely hope that you don’t have any unresolved shit that you yourself carry. Shit that eats away at you. But that isn’t my problem. Or responsibility to fix or sort out.
There are no rules to this shit. Nowhere does it say that we have to force ourselves to deal with each other. Or to carry on with this farce. This cycle of dysfunction that clearly doesn’t work for either of us. The typicalities of social convention don’t mean shit between you and me. With the things that we have done to each other, we are way beyond social convention now.
I hope that you are at peace. And if not, that you find peace.
The one thing that I am starting to understand. Is that I’m not the one to give you that peace. Just like it isn’t fair of me to expect you to somehow give me the peace I, from my perspective, so rightly need and want.
So. Find it if you can. Hold onto it if you’ve got it. Try if you haven’t.
As far as you are concerned. We are done.
Due to our primitive mind’s love of patterns mostly, it is said that great things come in threes.
So here it is:
And so long.