Hurray to my Drug Doc (sorry..Addictions Councellor) who just became a Dad yesterday.
Thats the good news.
The bad news is: Now I am in Councellor Limbo.
This place, I know too well.
They havent told me anything yet, but I know from history that it's gonna be at least a month before I get in to see anyone. That and I have to explain things to them all over again.
Whenever I tell a personal story, I not only have to explain the characters, but also the setting of the story.
Like, whenever I tell a story about my own father: Okay. He's a Moldavian-Canadian Police Officer who's funny, witty, and creepy.
Therefore, if I told the councellor about the time my dad left me in a rail yard for two hours when I was fourteen; only to come back bruised, bleeding, but acted like nothing had happened and continued to drive me home- the councellor would have taken that as a sign of 'she was abandoned by her father'.
No. I wasnt.
Old councellor already knows what my Dad's like, so he'd probably ask me what I did for two hours in the rail yard. (I think I sat down and smoked like, five cigarettes. Whatever was in my pocket at the time. I dont remember!)
Not only that, but it's the connection.
You cant just open up to anyone. Thats why it took some people so long in school to get one simple scene done. I mean, you're vulnerable: thats probably how I got hooked on drugs in the first place.
Isolation, loneliness, vulnerability.
Now, it's like I'm having to take five steps back. Again.
I mean, I'm not blaming my councellor, or am angry at the fact his wife gave birth. Good for them. We need more Dharma Punks in the world.
I'm just frustrated that I'm lost in the system. Again.
I've been thinking alot about Fathers lately.
Whenever I see a picture of a father playing with his children, or a commercial of sorts, I get pretty sad.
I know most fathers out there are assholes, but mine wasnt.
Well..Okay, he's been an asshole at times. That doesnt mean he is one.
He had his own style of parenting. He just wasnt around much because of work.
My Mom was always in the house. We just never saw her. She was always in bed.
To this Day, some friends I knew in Junior High think I was Motherless/ Raised by my Dad.
I was, to some extent.
Yeah, my mom was there to display neurotic mood swings, childish ramblings, drunken fighting and terrifying violence, but that's about it.
Dad taught me how to cook, clean, and ways to keep my siblings from killing each other- when he was home.
After that, the schedual was: Avoid Mom, make breakfast/lunch/dinner, shut Laura up, get Phil organized, feed the cat, clean whatever mess the siblings made, get everyone ready for school/make sure everyone's doing their homework (we never did).
Dad came home around 7:00 every night.
He knew my mother had left her room if one of us was crying, or a wine bottle was missing.
So, why am I getting so uptight about fathers?
Maybe I blame mine?
I mean, he could have left my mom and taken us to somewhere safer.
He always stated though that he didnt want her to die and that there wasnt enough money.
Or maybe I just feel I've missed out on the whole childhood thing.
My Dad's been very supportive with this whole stupid baby thing, so I guess I shouldnt be complaining.
You know what? Maybe I should, actually.
Dad. You didnt take responsibility for raising yr kids in a safe environment. You knew we were being beaten; Laura stopped breathing one time she was so scared.
This wasnt just slaps either. We were punched, kicked, had our heads slammed in the walls, and I have two missing teeth from it. I've slowly learned to accept my smile.
Dad. You were such a wonderful man. So why didnt you rescue us?