The Bloody Doors Off

I just spent four hours with my dad, specifically not talking about my hospitalization, what led up to it, and how I’m coping now.

I get it; this is stuff he can’t talk about. There’s a lot over the years we haven’t been able to discuss. We don’t have that kind of relationship; we never did. I suppose.  My brothers all handle our relationship with him differently. Kevin and I are most closely aligned. Somehow, Wayne’s made peace with it. I never have.

You wanna know why I’m in therapy? This is part of it. And I don’t see it really ever getting past a certain point. There were times tonight I really wanted to say “I WAS IN THE FUCKING HOSPITAL BECAUSE I NEARLY OFFED MYSELF TWO WEEKS AGO BUT SOMETHING TETHERED ME.” The best that came out was, “check in with me once in a while to see that I’m still kicking”.

And that came from HIM.

I’m pissed. I’m hurt. I wanna cry over this. But it’s not worth it. This has been our relationship since forever.

There are maybe 3 or 4 pictures of me in his house; one of them from Wayne’s wedding (standing beside a bridesmaid that I met that day and haven’t seen since). Nothing since my early 20s.

Frozen in time. That’s what this is. We’re frozen. He came close to admitting maybe understanding how my mom felt after the divorce (because of another issue not worth getting into). But he can’t understand what I’m going through, and for that, I feel empty and cold.

Fuck.