Rough Drafts
A Series of Pieces Written in The Wild
CW: Estrangement, abuse
#12
I forgot it was Father’s Day until I went on social media. Instagram is always there to remind me of what I don’t have. So fun. I love that relationship for us. It’s especially hard because my dad is alive. We’ve had some correspondences in the last month, but nothing that’s going to change much. The same bread crumbs from him to lure me in, but I’ve learned. I know a worm from a hook now.
We used to be close, I thought. Lunches just the two of us, a random trip to Mexico after a work thing of his, he came to my college graduation. The estrangement has brought a lot to light and my vision is clearer than it was. But it’s meant going over every memory with a fine-toothed comb. That’s the thing about healing. When you remove the thing that’s actively reopening the wound the bleeding actually stops and you can start to see what’s in front of you instead of constantly looking down and trying to clean the mess of blood, guts, and tears all over the floor. Metaphorically. My dad wasn’t the one who put hands on me like that. But he’d stand back as others would. He had a warmth with others but he could be cold, shut down, and say things about me that confused me. Made me feel like he didn’t know me at all. Or that I didn’t know him. Which is scarier.
I’ve never felt so betrayed by someone. At least my mom is loud. It’s more obvious when she’s being hurtful. My dad’s the silent killer. Lures you to the trap then leaves. Later claims to be upset by the outcome of a situation he helped create as if he were the victim. And maybe he is. It’s been hard to tell. And I can’t save him and myself at the same time. When I first tried EMDR, a memory of him crying came up. It had happened after I first stood up to him and told him the way he and my mom fought had a negative impact on me. I couldn’t understand why that memory. Not til years later when I recognized how my mom would constantly manipulate me with the line, “You’re breaking your father’s heart” as if he were the child and I the caretaker.
