I love you, I hate you
2 years ago
I apologize in advance, this is going to get real personal, really quick. I always say how I want to try to be more open with people, and how thanks to one of my best friends, I've learned that my "I think I need to be alone" mentality NEVER helps, it actually has always done more harm than good, but it's strange that it's still something I feel myself wanting to default to. About a week ago, I learned that the persisting pains my dad was having and the sudden weight loss was exactly what I thought it was. It was cancer.
With my close friends, they know I bear my dad some hard feelings and ill will for they way he's been for most of my life. He's an alcoholic, he's petty and fickle, he has a bad temper, and is extremely childish. He resorts to wrath and bad tempers when you point out his flaws or an err in his thinking if it's something he's latched on to. If you fight with him in an argument, he'll hold a grudge for about three days before deciding that he needs something from you, and then you're just expected to forget about everything, no apology, no nothing. He's stolen money from me often to fuel his addiction, ever since I was little, and I've held a grudge towards him my entire life, to some capacity or another.
I always learned to be wary of him with money, to keep his advice at a distance, and just not expect him to engage much in what I was doing. His humor usually involves the misfortune of others, and he also taught me how to ride a bike. He got me my favorite toy when I was little: a little electric truck called Big Jake. He took photos of Gij and me all the time when we were little, he promised we'd see the Grand Canyon some day, we never did, but we did used to go to Maryland all the time. He used to buy me toys when we could afford, took the blades out of old razors and covered their heads in tape so I could pretend to shave with him, and fought with my mother almost constantly. It was a life with two men that seemed always to trade places with one another. He soured more and more as he got older, and that balance of "He's only a monster when he's drinking" gave way to the constant thought of "You're really a dick." I had a friend sum it up today, talking in Taco Bell, that there's a good person in him, he's just really small. And you know, I sort of agree with that. Dad always did want to be liked, but the negatives always got in the way. The temper, the pettiness, the drinking, always prevented him from being the man that I could see he wanted to be.
I don't think he's going to make it. I hope I'm wrong, but I think this is it. I think this is where we part ways. I'll never forget the happy memories I have as a kid while he tried to fix the 36 Business Coup I named Cindy, camping in a little tent waiting to go to Knoebel's Amusement Park, building the barn in the backyard, Nic-Nic Bear, or the hole he punched in a wall when he was hung over, or how he yelled constantly when he was mad, or when he got drunk and tried to strangle mom with a phone cord. I'll never forget how much he loves his sister, how occasionally he did try to be involved with the things Gij and I did, or how when I was really small, I used to help mom carry him out into the kitchen so he wouldn't make a mess on the carpet when he was fall down drunk. How I'd sometimes worry for my safety, think of ways to fight him if it ever came to it, or things crossed that line, but they never did. He's not been a good father and I don't know if this is Stockholm or just me being a softy until the bitter end, hoping that the better nature of man will win out, but I wonder why then why is my heart breaking?
I've mattered less to him than a can of beer for years. And I know he'd tell me that isn't true, that of course he loves Gij and I, but the actions were always louder than words. I always hoped in my innocence that there'd be a day, after a bad fight with mom, after he choked her that one time with the phone cord, after that one time he nearly crushed Gij's head, after he was arrested for driving drunk, that the little man inside of him, the good man he was briefly, would shine through. I always waited for that moment where it was too much and he'd say "My God, what have I done!?" and we'd overcome his drinking together. But whenever he went too far, whenever he hurt feelings, whenever it crossed the line and he knew he'd fucked up, we'd go out to dinner, we'd be quietly and somberly told "You know, I love you all very much." and occasionally a sorry, and then that was it. We'd go back to life as normal, you never mention it again, or he'd get mad, and those God awful cans would come back into the house.
I keep going back and forth between feeling nothing at all, to feeling tears ready to slip from my eyes. I don't know whether I'm being cruel for not being optimistic, or if I'm just protecting myself from what seems unavoidable. He's lost 20 pounds in a week, he becomes so tired and weak easily, and the Bureaucracy to get treatment underway has been slow. The first doctor he saw originally told him, when he asked about the lump "Well, if it's not bothering you, don't worry about it!" Mom's put all her worst traits on display as she sees what looks like the end, talking about moving back to Pennsylvania, uprooting everyone again after he passes. She hates change, she always tries to make things how she's used to them, even if it's at her own detriment. She never left dad, even as she was abused and let her two kids get abused, because she didn't like the uncertainty of being alone. She's looking to go back to a life that doesn't exist any more, to retreat into something comfortable and familiar at the expense of everyone around her. My best job I've ever had, the thing helping me take steps to having my own life, are here in Florida. This is my home.
Why am I feeling so utterly broken from the man I've spent many nights despising? Why do I feel so completely hopeless when I always uplift my friends and try to support them through even the hardest times? Why does my heart hurt so much for someone who routinely showed me that I mattered less than a 6 Pack? Why do I want to scream and demand God tell me why I only get to know a broken heart. I know I'm not the best person all the time, but I've tried really really hard! I swear I've tried to be good! I really, REALLY have! Why does everything I try to fix break, why could I get my own father to put down the smokes and the beer long enough to show him he didn't need them to cope with all the bad things in life? Why does everything I love get pulled out of my heart, and I have to stand on the outside looking in? Please, God please someone tell me! PLEASE!! Why do I have to be on the outside looking in when it comes to love?
Dad, I love you. Dad, I hate you. I was too much of a coward perhaps to tell you all the things I've wanted to. I was selfish deciding I didn't want a fight, and I'd just say nothing and go about your night. I failed as a son, and I too drank from the cup of complicity as you killed yourself. It all just hurts so much, because I know that my struggle doesn't end here when I'm left with the same old hurt, and the pieces left behind from his passing, knowing that no matter how much I wish the little man won in the end, that the book of Rick ends with "And then the Alcoholic, never learning from his mistakes, never fixing them, died a slow agonizing death, leaving only a sadden family, and the shattered hopes that one day, one day he'd find the strength to be that person he still tried to be."
I don't know how I'm going to survive if Mom decides that there's no talking her out of running back up to a state where she has no job and only memories of how things were, but I know I'll figure something out. I've been fighting this long. I just need some time to sort myself out and see whether I need to cry, to scream, or just to turn off entirely for a little.
With my close friends, they know I bear my dad some hard feelings and ill will for they way he's been for most of my life. He's an alcoholic, he's petty and fickle, he has a bad temper, and is extremely childish. He resorts to wrath and bad tempers when you point out his flaws or an err in his thinking if it's something he's latched on to. If you fight with him in an argument, he'll hold a grudge for about three days before deciding that he needs something from you, and then you're just expected to forget about everything, no apology, no nothing. He's stolen money from me often to fuel his addiction, ever since I was little, and I've held a grudge towards him my entire life, to some capacity or another.
I always learned to be wary of him with money, to keep his advice at a distance, and just not expect him to engage much in what I was doing. His humor usually involves the misfortune of others, and he also taught me how to ride a bike. He got me my favorite toy when I was little: a little electric truck called Big Jake. He took photos of Gij and me all the time when we were little, he promised we'd see the Grand Canyon some day, we never did, but we did used to go to Maryland all the time. He used to buy me toys when we could afford, took the blades out of old razors and covered their heads in tape so I could pretend to shave with him, and fought with my mother almost constantly. It was a life with two men that seemed always to trade places with one another. He soured more and more as he got older, and that balance of "He's only a monster when he's drinking" gave way to the constant thought of "You're really a dick." I had a friend sum it up today, talking in Taco Bell, that there's a good person in him, he's just really small. And you know, I sort of agree with that. Dad always did want to be liked, but the negatives always got in the way. The temper, the pettiness, the drinking, always prevented him from being the man that I could see he wanted to be.
I don't think he's going to make it. I hope I'm wrong, but I think this is it. I think this is where we part ways. I'll never forget the happy memories I have as a kid while he tried to fix the 36 Business Coup I named Cindy, camping in a little tent waiting to go to Knoebel's Amusement Park, building the barn in the backyard, Nic-Nic Bear, or the hole he punched in a wall when he was hung over, or how he yelled constantly when he was mad, or when he got drunk and tried to strangle mom with a phone cord. I'll never forget how much he loves his sister, how occasionally he did try to be involved with the things Gij and I did, or how when I was really small, I used to help mom carry him out into the kitchen so he wouldn't make a mess on the carpet when he was fall down drunk. How I'd sometimes worry for my safety, think of ways to fight him if it ever came to it, or things crossed that line, but they never did. He's not been a good father and I don't know if this is Stockholm or just me being a softy until the bitter end, hoping that the better nature of man will win out, but I wonder why then why is my heart breaking?
I've mattered less to him than a can of beer for years. And I know he'd tell me that isn't true, that of course he loves Gij and I, but the actions were always louder than words. I always hoped in my innocence that there'd be a day, after a bad fight with mom, after he choked her that one time with the phone cord, after that one time he nearly crushed Gij's head, after he was arrested for driving drunk, that the little man inside of him, the good man he was briefly, would shine through. I always waited for that moment where it was too much and he'd say "My God, what have I done!?" and we'd overcome his drinking together. But whenever he went too far, whenever he hurt feelings, whenever it crossed the line and he knew he'd fucked up, we'd go out to dinner, we'd be quietly and somberly told "You know, I love you all very much." and occasionally a sorry, and then that was it. We'd go back to life as normal, you never mention it again, or he'd get mad, and those God awful cans would come back into the house.
I keep going back and forth between feeling nothing at all, to feeling tears ready to slip from my eyes. I don't know whether I'm being cruel for not being optimistic, or if I'm just protecting myself from what seems unavoidable. He's lost 20 pounds in a week, he becomes so tired and weak easily, and the Bureaucracy to get treatment underway has been slow. The first doctor he saw originally told him, when he asked about the lump "Well, if it's not bothering you, don't worry about it!" Mom's put all her worst traits on display as she sees what looks like the end, talking about moving back to Pennsylvania, uprooting everyone again after he passes. She hates change, she always tries to make things how she's used to them, even if it's at her own detriment. She never left dad, even as she was abused and let her two kids get abused, because she didn't like the uncertainty of being alone. She's looking to go back to a life that doesn't exist any more, to retreat into something comfortable and familiar at the expense of everyone around her. My best job I've ever had, the thing helping me take steps to having my own life, are here in Florida. This is my home.
Why am I feeling so utterly broken from the man I've spent many nights despising? Why do I feel so completely hopeless when I always uplift my friends and try to support them through even the hardest times? Why does my heart hurt so much for someone who routinely showed me that I mattered less than a 6 Pack? Why do I want to scream and demand God tell me why I only get to know a broken heart. I know I'm not the best person all the time, but I've tried really really hard! I swear I've tried to be good! I really, REALLY have! Why does everything I try to fix break, why could I get my own father to put down the smokes and the beer long enough to show him he didn't need them to cope with all the bad things in life? Why does everything I love get pulled out of my heart, and I have to stand on the outside looking in? Please, God please someone tell me! PLEASE!! Why do I have to be on the outside looking in when it comes to love?
Dad, I love you. Dad, I hate you. I was too much of a coward perhaps to tell you all the things I've wanted to. I was selfish deciding I didn't want a fight, and I'd just say nothing and go about your night. I failed as a son, and I too drank from the cup of complicity as you killed yourself. It all just hurts so much, because I know that my struggle doesn't end here when I'm left with the same old hurt, and the pieces left behind from his passing, knowing that no matter how much I wish the little man won in the end, that the book of Rick ends with "And then the Alcoholic, never learning from his mistakes, never fixing them, died a slow agonizing death, leaving only a sadden family, and the shattered hopes that one day, one day he'd find the strength to be that person he still tried to be."
I don't know how I'm going to survive if Mom decides that there's no talking her out of running back up to a state where she has no job and only memories of how things were, but I know I'll figure something out. I've been fighting this long. I just need some time to sort myself out and see whether I need to cry, to scream, or just to turn off entirely for a little.
Second... I can put myself in your shoes... well .. partly. I lost my mom to drinking, and I was always left to wonder if it was I that somehow drove her, in part, to doing so. Unlike you, I only have fond memories of my mom.. a woman who gave up a decent life largely for my benefit.
You have to give yourself the credit of being your own person... everyone has one life... one chance to do as best they can and make the most of the ticket-to-ride that is living. That means feeling as you need, and doing as you need to get by. I see in you the greatest service your father gave you-- was, like my father, largely how NOT to be-- which can often be just as valuable. All I am saying is, grieve as your heart feels, dear friend... but also feel no guilt in shame for that other half of the emotions you feel. You are a good person, and as such you care and hurt...
Just- find perspective... in the "big picture" sort of way... and try to find solace and strength there. That, my friend, is where so much of my own comes from-- for hurt as I will, and cry as I may, there "ain't nuthin' that I'm going through that millions before me haven't... it is, in fact, a part of living"
*hugs you tightly once more* We walk our own separate path, together.
I'm glad that you had a supportive and encouraging parent! You're a very good person & Yinglet, and it would sadden me to think about you being hut or abused as a kid!
Honestly, the whole "I was given an example of how NOT to be" is often how I looked at it, and what I'd joke with some friends about. When I was little, I used to have a terrible temper, because my family would fight CONSTANTLY. Dad and Mom were almost always in screaming matches where they would just say and do things to hurt the other emotionally, and since the screaming drunkard father, like Homer, was so normal on TV, I just assumed that dads were like that and this is just how people behaved. I was manipulative because I figured out how to get them to do things, and it wasn't until around High School that I started to realize just how toxic they both were. I always wanted to be a hero, to be a virtuous person, even growing up like that, and the more I started to figure things out, the more I worked on changing myself and making certain that those traits died. But thank you, I know I shouldn't feel too guilty, because it was always his choice to stop, the option was always there. That's his choice and his responsibility to deal with.
*HUGS* And I could think of no better walking partner, my friend!
It all sounds so painful. You're going through a bereavement. He's still with us but bereavements can and absolutely do start before a death, because we can see what's coming. You asked why you feel steady sometimes and tearful at others. I don't know the neurology behind it, but I'm pretty sure humans are made to swing back and forth between the two. You have something huge to make sense of and prepare for, but you also have a life where you need to function - a job, a household, and all of those things. Swinging helps you get what needs to be done in your 'normal' life done while allowing you to process your dad's decline. You're switching back and forth between being okay and feeling heartbroken because you're a normal human being.
You asked a lot of questions; I'm loathe to just give answers to those right now while you're in such a hurricane of feeling, because right now it sounds like you need comfort more than you need technical discussions about what's going on and why your dad has been the way he has, but I can explain the mechanics of some of what you asked about if you'd like. Just ask and I'll be happy to answer.
Above all else, take care of yourself.
I'll take care, and hey, who knows, maybe we can get him to treatment on time! I just have to wait and see.
He may have his faults, but despite all of them you and Gij turned out alright. You guys got fight in you and I know you can make it. You've got ambition, gumption, stick-to-it-iveness and the drive. You had to have gotten all that from somewhere. You know where to find me. Love you guys.
I feel like a lot of the time, a lot of that moxy comes out of spite, a spite for just how badly we've been hampered in life. Because if we don't fight and push forward, they won't be of any help at all. Love you too! We'll get through this. I just have to make plans to jump ship if mom does decide that she'd rather go running and grasping at memories in a state where she's not seen anyone for over a decade, has no job, and no house.
V.
You are in no way responsible for the decisions another person makes, including your dad. Yes, you have been on the receiving end of the consequences, but you did not bring that upon yourself. Being conflicted like this is absolutely normal, something I hated to learn for myself.
I idolized my older brother. He was everything to me, but eventually I started to realize that I had lost my identity to him, living in his constant shadow. Things grew distant, then looked like could be repaired after some time. We were on good terms again, enough to benefit from mutual incomes and stay in the same household. But then the carpet was pulled out from under my feet. I was treated to a rude awakening of complete lack of respect from him. He said some of the most hurtful, untrue things in my life and severely damaged my reputation with my family and many people I knew. It has taken years to recover from this, during which I lost my home, my car, and a lot of support until I could build trust back with people who believed the worst of me.
During those years, it took a really long time to sort things out emotionally. Some days I cried, others I raged. While I never truly understood why it happened, I had to learn that regardless of the why, I did not make it happen. I have a high sense of personal responsibility and often suffer from trying to handle problems not of my own making. Overcoming that to realize that for once, it was not my fault, was a huge hurdle for me. Because my brother caused so much damage, I stopped all contact with him and it gave me the time and space to recover. Even now, though, after years of waiting to see if his demeanor would change, I am conflicted. A part of me wants to go back and try to figure out what went wrong, the part of me that loves him as a family member. The other side of me hates him and never wants to see him again. The back and forth is real. It doesn't really go away, just becomes less extreme over time.
Opening up about this was also a step on my road to recovery. I have past journals where this stuff came up and if not for supportive friends back then, I would have suffered more. You've shown bravery for making yourself vulnerable and sharing something real - your emotions. You can't control them, but you are trying to understand them. There is value in that. And greater strength in your commitment to moving forward.