Today's rambling: Letters I've written, never meaning to send Written on Thursday, Jul. 11, 2002 at 10:51 p.m. while feeling a bit
Dear Dad,
Last night, I spent most of my time crying. While this bout of tears was begun by something relatively stupid, it opened the floodgates (so to speak) to something much deeper. You. Even the stupid little reason that started it all was somewhat connected to you. As I sat on my bed pouring my heart out to Mom, she told me to get in contact with you, to tell you how I'm feeling and how much I've been hurt.
But I can't. All I can do is sit here and type what I would say to you if I were to actually write you an email. I'll explain my reasons for this.
First of all, I miss you. I miss you so much sometimes that it hurts to even think about you. Oh sure, most of the time I can go blithely about my business and say that I'm glad you're out of my life, and I certainly don't need you. But then there are times when I wish desperately that things were the way they used to be again. Not that it was ever great; you've said to me before that you weren't a very good father half the time, and as cruel as it sounds, I have to agree with you. I was never "Daddy's Little Girl", both because you were hardly ever around, and because you usually only paid attention to me when you were scolding and punishing me. All I ever seemed to receive from you was negativity, and that in itself damaged me.
Seems funny that I should miss you so much then, doesn't it? But I do. Because even though the negativity is what stands out most in my mind, I still remember other things about our relationship--happy times where I was happy you were my dad. When you used to tuck me in at night, and you'd let me tell you three jokes...and they'd all be the most horrible 'jokes' on creation, because I'd just be thinking up stupid stuff off the top of my head. But you'd laugh and tickle me after each one anyway, as if each joke had been something witty and wonderful. And then there were those few times when we'd go out, or we'd be on vacation, and even though it was 'uncool' for a teenage girl to hold hands with her parents, I'd sometimes just casually slip my hand into yours. Not that I held it for very long--I did, of course, still have some teenage dignity--but it was still so great to be around you and actually get along with you.
That's what I miss; the man you once were. I've said this hundreds of times to other people, and maybe I've even said it to you. But contrary to what you've led yourself to believe, you're not the same person. I don't know what happened to you, but the man you are now only knows how to hurt me. You've tried to be a father, telling me you love me and all sorts of other meaningless, overused phrases...but in the same breath, you say hurtful things about Mom, and even about me (telling me that I need to grow up, and that when I mature, I'll 'understand' your side of things). If you'd ever wanted to be a father to me, you should have started when I was born, not when you decided to get a divorce. You told me you were afraid that we'd be like other children and fathers, who go years without ever speaking to each other. Yet that's what's happening to us. And I can't place all the blame on you, but you don't seem to be able to place any blame on yourself.
Can't you see how you've hurt me? My family has been torn apart, my home--my security of 10 years--was forcefully ripped away from me...and yet all you can say is that I'll understand you when I grow up? I'm grown, Dad. I may still be naive in many ways, and I realize that you're a human who can make mistakes, but I'm grown up to know that this is not right. You don't love Mom anymore. Fine. But...oh, I don't know. Expressing things like this isn't my strong point, because I'm so accustomed to keeping everything inside. I just don't understand how you can act like you didn't do anything wrong. Is it normal, in your eyes, to be so cold and heartless?
Anyway, there's really nothing more I can say. I know there is more, but it's all emotions swirling around my mind, and I can't seem to put them into words. I doubt you'd even understand anything of what I've already written, anyway. Just more of me being 'immature' and 'poisoned by Mom'.
In closing, I'd like to suggest that maybe you're still in need of a little growing up, too.
Content and design � Amber. Image is of Robert Plant (surprise surprise, eh?). No part of this design may be copied or used. Thanks to Diaryland for the venting space!
