(back in full force or something)
Gotta get some of this out of me. It ain't pretty.
This is some of my own pollution that bubbles and slops around inside me. It's like those sourdough starters your mom might've had when you were a kid. It sat on the counter in some sort of jar and looked bubbly and it was all sorts of mysterious and kind of smelly. It got fed at certain times and it would grow into more sloppy mess. You could take a bunch out and use it and then just keep feeding that shit and it was like it never went away until maybe your mom shared it with someone else or just got sick of looking at it and dumped it down the drain.
My pollution seems to feed off of anything related to my dad and it snacks on things related to school. The pollution has indigestion from overeating.
I spend a lot of time trying to scrawl out this magical mathematical equation that will tell me how bad of a daughter I am 'cause I'm curious to know. What's my daughter type? What kind of bad daughter score do I have? How does my rank compare? Would I rather take instructions, give instructions, or be building a birdhouse?
I stew a lot about my dad. His health is hurtling downhill. He's completely miserable. I cannot for one second fathom what's in his head right now. I can't. He doesn't leave the house much at all these days and so you know, if I see him at all it's only if I go over there. I hate going to his house. (I can't give enough disclaimers here.. I can't pretend that I'm selfless and nice and that we're all dealing with this stuff gracefully. We're not. I'm not.) So, I hate going there. I will not deny it. It's uncomfortable. He doesn't really have anything to say to me so we watch TV. My dad doesn't know me. I think if he did he might have a little more to say to me. I try starting conversations but they rarely go anywhere. Again, all of this is surrounded by the fact that at all times, my dad is in huge amounts of pain. It makes it hard to function at any level of normalcy whatsoever. So most of the time I'm plagued by feeling like I don't visit enough and truth be told I probably don't. When I'm not thinking that I'm thinking about how I don't call enough. My dad no longer calls me so if we talk it has to be because I call. He doesn't ask me to come over or to ever spend time with him and that's ok. It hurts my feelings but it shouldn't. I'm selfish. The feeling is normal but inappropriate here. (To be inserted after most of what I say here at this point) I just feel like now he put out this blanket statement like, hey..whatever.. come over whenever, just call first. That statement.. made some time ago and again since keeps the ball consistently in my court. He's been out places with his wife, gone shopping with his step-daughter but never wants to do those things with me. I'd be all sorts of excited if one time he'd say, "Hi. Wanna come over?" Again, more selfishness here...me wanting things I can't/won't have.
I called one night last week and his wife told me he didn't wanna speak to me. The next day I went over there and my dad never mentioned it. It seemed strange. I'm not sure he was even around when I called. I called today and he asked if he could call me back later. He did and he had nothing to say to me. He was terse. In those moments it's all I can do to not explode in a mess of tears. I wanna cry and scream. I wanna say that it feels like he never wants to talk to me or see me at all. We only talked a few minutes. He asks about school and then has nothing left to say. I ask him about the doctor and he won't tell me a thing. His voice is underlined by rage. I lived with him for 20 years. I can read him. Being able to read him the instant he walked in a room was the only way to survive in my house. It'd be the same if he answered the phone with a hearty, "God. What the fuck do You want?" My emotions may cloud my rationale. He's angry, yes. It's not all directed at me. His family sees me as the bad, unappreciate daughter that doesn't do the things she should for her dad...a very good man.
Our "conversation" was short and when we hung up I could already feel the dread for the next time I'd call him. When I do call I sit and hold the phone in my hand, acknowledging my nerves and the dark pit in my stomach that's sucking down all my guts and innards. I have to take a few minutes to build up enough courage to dial. I hate having to weigh everything I say. I hate that we both pretend that this "relationship" hanging by a thread is enough. I'm scared that maybe it's all he's capable of. I wish he never got married. Before he did my mom asked him to come home. She told him she'd take care of him, do anything for him.
When I was younger the family trips we'd take were always somewhere my dad could fish. We always camped. I loved camping. I loved being in the woods, walking our dog on trails, having a campfire, cooking outside, playing in the lake, and even fishing. I was telling my dad about our camping trip last weekend and he audibly frowned. "YOU? You went camping?! You've always HATED camping!" Awhile later out of nowhere.. "I just can't believe you went camping." Inside I'm thinking.. what?? what in the hell? bah!
Writing things here that are sloshing around in my head is somewhat cathartic but I always find that as I'm drawing to a close nothing feels better. Nothing has met any sort of resolution. I don't feel any sort of relief. I do not know how to process this. I do not know how to deepen anything with my dad. I sent a text message to my dad (he likes to play with his cell phone) and told him "I love you so much, Dad" -- to which I never got a response. I sent another the next day telling him I hoped he'd have a nice evening going out and he said thanks. I probably shouldn't write any of these words here. I wish I knew what I should do. I wish my dad and I could share words like two normal humans... like two people related. Sometimes I wish it were time to start healing.
