Dear Father...
January 14, 2005 @ 11:00 p.m.
The letter I wrote my father on 1/10/05:
Dear Father,
I've been debating writing this letter because I'm not quite sure where to begin, and because I don't know if you deserve to hear from me. But as writing has always been my catharsis, I'll do what I can to try and get everything out.
I feel like I have nothing but anger for you anymore because I've buried all the other thoughts and feelings I had about you down, deep down, down where I thought I couldn't feel them, finally down to where I thought they couldn't be unburied.
You've always been a master gravedigger, though. You've always unearthed these feelings, raw and aching, elementary, primary, instinct, primal, primeval. The thoughts that have haunted me for years, Father. The thoughts you won't let stay buried.
I am more like you then I'd ever care to admit. Like you, I understand the call of the bottle to fill a dark empty hole that won't let you be. I understand the need to fill it with something, with a graceful poison that leaves you with a temporary amnesia. I am haunted just like you are. I face the night just as you do, or did, long ago. I know what haunts you because I am like you and burying you buries a part of myself. You were one -- the very, very first one -- that I loved more than breathing. When it comes to you I am still the cowering seven-year-old. I am still a child of the basement, willing you to get better. I am still sniffing your cup, trying to discover what mood you'll be in.
You see, like Gary, and like other ghosts that haunt you (and perhaps alcohol is a ghost too), you haunt me. You haunt me. Throughout my entire life you have haunted me.
You don't know me, not at all. Did you know I turned 21 this year and had a party with friends and family? Did you know I'm nearly finished with college? Do you even know which one I'm going to now, or what I'm majoring in? Did you know I had my first boyfriend last year (although he'll never admit it), and that he broke my heart so badly that I still cry over it? Do you know he was just like you, Daddy, for better or for worse he was just like you, and just like you he rejected me for not being good enough for him?
No. You know nothing.
Do you know sometimes I visit your brother in Raymond, on quiet, still dusks when I can sit in front of him and ask him to take care of you, to make sure that you're doing more good than bad with your life? I don't believe in God, I don't believe in an afterlife, and I don't believe in spirits -- but with him I make an exception. I don't pray anymore, but I pray for you. Youv'e always been the exception.
There are some that say it would be better if you were dead, because at least then you would stop hurting your own children, and I'm inclined to agree with them. You've hurt me so deeply, and for so long -- longer and more deeply then you'll ever know, or that I'll ever be able to express. There's a bit of me that feels dead now, dead even as I try to kill you off in my thoughts.
I cannot have you hurt me anymore.
You have ruined me, time and again. You have always had the power to ruin me because I've always given you permission. You've always been sorry, been so sorry for something, and somehow I forgive you for it.
There are so many memories of you that I have that blaze like meteors in my mind. They're mostly bad, rarely good, and they always leave behind a bitter aftertaste. Mostly, after everything, I'm just tired. Tired of having to remember you, tired of your stuttering attempts to be a father. Tired of always considering your shadow when I make choices for myself. You drain me. You exhaust me. You're painfully apropos to my whole life's situation. You're what I consider upon every situation: will this be the drink that makes me a drunk? Will these harsh words to my mother sound too reminiscent of him? Should I show a weakness? Do I dare?
You haven't understood anything about this family for a very long time. I worry for Sean -- I see it in his eyes that he too is like you, although he is less likely to be able to control it. I hope every day that he realizes and comes to terms with his heritage.
And my mother -- never speak an ill word of her again. She is the most giving woman I will ever know. She has forsaken more than any human being should ever be asked to and she did so silently. Because you were selfish, she was forced to be selfless. I only hope that I can begin to be as good of a person as she is.
And myself -- well like I said before, I am much like you. I have your humor, I have your eyes. I have a need to be noticed and there is an undying need to self- destruct. Oh yes. I am much like you.
Because I feel as though your love has always been conditional, mine will be as well. I refuse to have any contact with you until you leave the cabin completely and forsake all legal rights to it. That is not your place. You are not welcome there.
I do not know if your latest attempts at communication are some sort of white flag, but I assure you that short of my terms, absolutely nothing will work. We've been more than fair to you. You'll never see it that way, but it's true.
You should know I plan also to have my last name legally changed. Your surname is a burden that I cannot carry anymore.
I do not know what else can be said. I'm bitter and exhausted from this letter.
- Kelly
<< | >>
- - March 22, 2010
always the same - July 01, 2008
b-a-n-a-n-a-s! - December 25, 2006
elementary again - October 29, 2006
I don't like you, but I love you - October 03, 2006