|
I Should�ve Taken That Left Turn at Albuquerque |
||||
|
Hello and welcome. If you're new here, be a dear and Read my Disclaimer. My diary not good enough for you? Fine, be that way. Try these instead: plf
|
2000-08-09 - 1:32 am� I've been thinking alot today about people in the past, or more accurately, my relationships with people in my past. I've been thinking that I have a history of caring more about people than they do about me, and I've been wondering why that is. Do I expect to much from people? Am I the one in the wrong all the time? I don't know. It's not like I've run into this in all the relationships I've had with friends and family and signicant (or not so significant) others. But there are a few that I tend to dwell on sometimes when I'm in a particularly self doubting mood. I know what sparked this train of thought today. My mom and I have been talking about my father again. He is now officially a week late in putting in the child support payment for my brother, and my mom is debating whether or not it is worth it to call him and ask for it. Everytime the subject of my father comes up, about a million emotions start running through my head. First and foremost, I'm angry with him. I'm still angry. It's been a year since he made my world come crashing down and I'm still as angry with him as I was when it happened. I suppose I'll always be angry. Part of my anger, the part of my anger that I don't like to admit too, comes from the fact that the events of last year prove that he didn't give a damn about me. That is a hard pill to swallow, that my own father didn't think about anyone other than himself, and didn't consider what his irresponsibility would do to me. Despite everything he'd done other the years, his irresponsibilty, selfishness, asshole-ishness... despite all of it, I was always secure in the thought that I was the one person my father gave a damn about. He always seemed to care about me. Even as he would treat my brother with deliberate cruelty, I was always daddy's little girl. I was the one that stood up to him when he would go off on an emotionally abusive power trip, and I always thought he respected me for that. That he respected me enough to care. I don't want to admit it, but I am hurt that he never tried to get in touch with me after it all happened. Thanks to him I had no home anymore. I had to leave a job, I had less than a week left before my final exams of my final year of University, and he never once called to find out if I was okay. Oh. And did I mention that my grandfather passed away right in the middle of this? He hasn't tried to find out about me, he hasn't tried to offer any explanations or apologies. He just hasn't tried. Maybe he knows that there is no way I would talk to him if he did call. It's possible that he does realize that. But deep inside I want him to try. I want the opportunity to tell him to fuck off. Why am I not worth the effort to him? I've been sitting here looking at what I've written, trying to decide whether or not to post it. This is the first time I've been able to articulate these feelings in any form. But there is a lot of vunerability in this entry that I'm not sure I want to share. I like to have the brave face, the strong persona. I also don't like to come off as sounding too depressed, too unhappy, too focused on the bad stuff. But there it is. Sometimes I just can't ignore the bad stuff.
|
The big 3 0 - 2006-06-03 Hello again - 2006-05-03 Random stuff in place of an actual update - 2006-03-15 Pictures. Just Because. - 2006-02-23 Christmas 05 - 2005-12-26 Currently listening to: |
||