The first anniversary of my father’s death is in 6 days, on 10/31/21.
It feels like all of the anger, shock, outrage, and righteous indignation have run their course. And now I just want to cry for a month straight.
About what we both missed as children. No one ever “mirrored” his emotions during his stoic West Texas childhood: how would he
ever know to mirror mine?
How could he know that by silencing me, I never told anyone what I was truly feeling or what was truly happening?
It doesn’t change the fact that he left me alone to process a suite of emotions too complex for a small child to process on her own.
As a result, the arbiter of my worth was transferred from Me (worth self-motivated) to Whomever I Was With (worth tied to external approval).
My chaotic childhood turned me into a chameleon I often feared was dead and bone dry on the inside. I would now call that kind of person a “cypher.” Unfortunately, my emptiness isn’t easily filled. Some have tried, but none have succeeded (or stayed, for that matter). They never stay. I wish my emptiness was filled by a plain old human being, but it feels endless sometimes.
I already feel like I’ve cried enough. Isn’t 500+ months of crying enough?
For once, I honestly don’t know how I feel inside.
Torn? Conflicted? No.
“Little Girl: You have nothing to say. Quit crying or I’ll give you something to cry about. And while we’re at it: you’re the most hopelessly unathletic AND the most self-centered person I’ve ever known. Look how you start every sentence with the word ‘I’” [insert ubiquitous eye roll of contempt].
You know what? I changed my mind.
YOU GO AHEAD AND STAY DEAD, Sweet Daddy.
Please just STAY IN HELL!
Please, could I have one last year?
It’s ALL I want left in this life: One Last Year of Freedom from Your Voice Before I Die.
I don’t give a DAMN about your money! All I want is for you to…
SHUT THE FUCK UP!!