Thursday 24 February 2011

Seventeen Years

I like to think that I show you the true me here in this space and I know that I share stuff here that I wouldn’t talk about with anyone apart from my closest friends. I’m still cautious though. I keep these high walls built up around me that have been there for many years.  Occasionally you’ll see a chink of the ‘me’ that I keep hidden away but it’s quite rare. Don’t be offended lovelies.....I keep that ‘me’ hidden from everyone even the people that I love.

My Dad is a subject that I broach VERY rarely. Again this is something that I don’t talk about here.....I don’t talk about him ever. I did write a post about him last year but it was so painful that I was reluctant to do it again. I was looking through some new blogs today when I stumbled across Lori. Her husband committed suicide in January and she’s been writing very honestly about her feelings since then. Reading through her blog it struck me how very similar my feelings were to hers but she’s speaking out and trying to help people and I’m not. I don’t even tell people that my Dad committed suicide as though it’s a bad reflection on me. I guess it’s all about rejection.

I can’t believe that it has been 17 years since he died.  Although the pain is still there it’s obviously nowhere near as raw as it was then but mainly because I have completely shut it out. I have spent the last 17 years hating my Dad. And I mean hating him with a passion. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that before. I don’t think anyone has ever asked.  They just assumed that I did miss him.

I hate him for doing it, for leaving us, for ruining my late teens and early 20’s, for making me hate him for 17 years, for tearing my family apart, for having to visit him in the chapel of rest, for the devastation that followed us around for years,  for ruining my 18th birthday plans by having to deal with a funeral instead of planning the best party ever, for breaking my Grandma’s heart, for not being here for the birth of my daughter, for making me cry rivers of tears even now as I type this.

It’s a very rare occasion that I make it to the cemetery because going would mean that I gave a fuck and for many years I was determined not to. He showed no care or thought for us when he killed himself so why should I care now he’s not here. I’m sure that many of you (if you’ve made reading it this far) think that I’m being completely irrational and you know what I probably am but I will never, ever forgive him for doing it. I understand now that he was ill and I knew that he was very unhappy at the time but that won’t ever make it ok for me.

Recently though I think I’ve started to let it go. On Christmas Eve I was at (yet) another funeral and went to see my Dad, Grandma & Grandad who are all buried next to each other. For the first time in a long time I admitted to myself that I missed my Dad. Then broke down and cried for the rest of the day. Maybe it was a cathartic healing....I’m not sure. I know that I had a very emotional Christmas and my family thought I was on the edge of a breakdown! Since then though, I feel that I’ve thawed a little so maybe I have had a breakthrough in admitting that I miss him. I’ve started talking to Chick about him just by bringing stuff up in conversation. I’ve even managed to look at some photos of him and my Mum together and I didn’t feel hate just sadness.

As regards to the rest of it I’m not sure how to go about beginning to let the walls down. Will it happen naturally when someone amazing comes along that is worth me letting in? I’m not sure but I do know that it will probably never be easy and letting men in won’t ever come naturally. I don’t want to be dealing with these issues for the rest of my life but it will always be a part of who I am and what makes me the fucked up girl I am today. I am determined though that it won’t make me bitter or rule my life any more. 
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