Thursday, October 28, 2004
another "dad dream" nightmare
Just woke up. I had another dream about my dad. In this one, we were trying to reconcile, and had met up at an AA meeting that I frequent (although in the dream it was in a different place and all the faces were different). I told the group about a meeting that needed help with attendance, and had offered to take Dad there. As we walked across a parking lot, he was hitting me from behind with some sort of ropy thing, like the twisted cardboard handle of a shopping bag or something. Not enough to really draw blood like a bullwhip, but in the dream, it really hurt. It was like he was doing it just because he was bored while walking across the parking lot. Anyway, I asked him to stop, and then decided that if he did it one more time, I was going to get back in my car and go home. Of course, he did it one more time, and I walked back to my car and just left. This obviously was embarrasing him in some way, like he couldn't understand why I didn't want to just be there and take the abuse. I didn't say anything mean to him, I just said that it looked like right now, we weren't going to be able to try to re-establish a relationship.
I wonder if he notices the fact that he hasn't spoken to me since the middle of May? He did leave me a voice mail for my birthday, sure, but does that count? I haven't given him very much thought recently, other than the occasional wondering what he's cooking up to screw us kids with next.
I met with my brother for a fabulous steak-n-shake dinner a couple of weeks ago. He was in town for an interview with a company. We got to talking about this whole deal with dad. My brother at least knows that dad can't be trusted, but he really doesn't understand how evil dad can be. It's unfortunate, but I'm afraid that my brother will end up getting screwed just like the rest of us. I hope I at least got him to hear a little of the truth before it's too late. He just doesn't grasp that dad can and likely will do everything he can to go through every penny he has before he dies. It's a sickness, and I hope I never act in such a way that my own children revile me as much as I revile my own father.
I wonder if he notices the fact that he hasn't spoken to me since the middle of May? He did leave me a voice mail for my birthday, sure, but does that count? I haven't given him very much thought recently, other than the occasional wondering what he's cooking up to screw us kids with next.
I met with my brother for a fabulous steak-n-shake dinner a couple of weeks ago. He was in town for an interview with a company. We got to talking about this whole deal with dad. My brother at least knows that dad can't be trusted, but he really doesn't understand how evil dad can be. It's unfortunate, but I'm afraid that my brother will end up getting screwed just like the rest of us. I hope I at least got him to hear a little of the truth before it's too late. He just doesn't grasp that dad can and likely will do everything he can to go through every penny he has before he dies. It's a sickness, and I hope I never act in such a way that my own children revile me as much as I revile my own father.
Saturday, October 09, 2004
Sometimes, all this is overwhelming.
It's 3:30 in the morning. I've been having nightmares about being tortured by my dad. I dream that he's taped me to a block and is trying to force me to accept his gifts. He has stooges everywhere who have forged my signature, and he has taken away anything that might have ever been given to my by the will of my grandfather, grandmother, or great-grandfather. I dream that he laughs about the pain he causes.
I'm hurt. All the things that he does to my sister are horrible things. I cannot imagine a man so vile as to take pleasure out of finding new ways to hurt his children. I know I read about these people in the paper, and we hear about them on the news, but those are all supposed to be other families. My family is the one in the shiny house on the goddamned hill.
I pray to god to give him the happiness that he deserves, like I've been taught. I can't bear the torture of having such venom in my heart, and I certainly don't want to end my days with more than half of my own children not speaking to me.
I wonder if his new wife knows? Does she know she's married a monster? I wonder if she'll ever find out. I don't think I'm the one to tell, but one of these days, all this will come to light.
I'm done hiding with my head in the sand. All this is real. My father really is that man who would steal insulin from a diabetic baby. No amount of pretending will change that fact. I wanted so much to have someone to look up to and be proud of, and there is a part of me that is in very deep grief over realizing that he is not the person to sit in that spot in my heart.
The years of lies, turning us all against mother, and now we start to find out how deep her love for us really was. We are not worthy children of a mother who loves like that. I can only hope that I can be a good son to her for the rest of my days; I owe her much in the wayof gratitude, and I owe her much in the way of apology, and amends. I see her in a new light now.
"Stupid is as stupid does." Thank you, Forest, you're quite right. Things in my life are really uncomfortable at the moment, but I'm much better off with him safely in Arizona. He is out of control, he is dangerous, and sooner or later his Karmic debt will come due, and he will need three lifetimes to repay for this one. He truly must be an agonized soul, to need to feed so much on the misery of those he should love. He is pitiable, pitiful, and a mockery of everything that our family stands for. I have a greater desire to be a good parent to my daughters, even if I'm absent from their home. I have a greater desire to treat their mother wtih respect, even if I'm absent from her bed. I have a greater desire to be certain that I remain a man of integrity, honor, and discipline. In shrot, "I will never be like him." Those words, uttered at age fifteen, are adolescent anger. Those words, in print at age thirty-four, are a quiet determination to be a far better man than my own father.
I'm hurt. All the things that he does to my sister are horrible things. I cannot imagine a man so vile as to take pleasure out of finding new ways to hurt his children. I know I read about these people in the paper, and we hear about them on the news, but those are all supposed to be other families. My family is the one in the shiny house on the goddamned hill.
I pray to god to give him the happiness that he deserves, like I've been taught. I can't bear the torture of having such venom in my heart, and I certainly don't want to end my days with more than half of my own children not speaking to me.
I wonder if his new wife knows? Does she know she's married a monster? I wonder if she'll ever find out. I don't think I'm the one to tell, but one of these days, all this will come to light.
I'm done hiding with my head in the sand. All this is real. My father really is that man who would steal insulin from a diabetic baby. No amount of pretending will change that fact. I wanted so much to have someone to look up to and be proud of, and there is a part of me that is in very deep grief over realizing that he is not the person to sit in that spot in my heart.
The years of lies, turning us all against mother, and now we start to find out how deep her love for us really was. We are not worthy children of a mother who loves like that. I can only hope that I can be a good son to her for the rest of my days; I owe her much in the wayof gratitude, and I owe her much in the way of apology, and amends. I see her in a new light now.
"Stupid is as stupid does." Thank you, Forest, you're quite right. Things in my life are really uncomfortable at the moment, but I'm much better off with him safely in Arizona. He is out of control, he is dangerous, and sooner or later his Karmic debt will come due, and he will need three lifetimes to repay for this one. He truly must be an agonized soul, to need to feed so much on the misery of those he should love. He is pitiable, pitiful, and a mockery of everything that our family stands for. I have a greater desire to be a good parent to my daughters, even if I'm absent from their home. I have a greater desire to treat their mother wtih respect, even if I'm absent from her bed. I have a greater desire to be certain that I remain a man of integrity, honor, and discipline. In shrot, "I will never be like him." Those words, uttered at age fifteen, are adolescent anger. Those words, in print at age thirty-four, are a quiet determination to be a far better man than my own father.
