My Father

my friend vera has degrees in psychiatry. funny thing is she works at a bank.

the point is she did a test on me once and had me draw a tree. i drew a fucked up scary looking tree. the one i used to draw all the time. kinda derived from the tree inside marilyn mansons "portrait of an american family" record. i drew a tree with a face and it had two limbs coming off of it but each limb was like arms and each had 3 fingers and it had two roots.

i dont exactly remember what she did but she looked at it and calculated something from it. all of a sudden she looks up at me and says to me "what happened to you when you were 8."

my heart fell into my stomach. in an instant i was 8 years old again, and i was failing school and starting to not get along with my mother. my father was gone for good from my so called family life, and that was the turning point where everything started to get shitty in my life.

its weird how we subconsciously carry things with us even though we dont really know it. no wonder i feel like shit all the time. just when i think im over it, my body reminds me.


we are set on self destruct.

its like were springing leaks from the inside and we spend our whole lives patching up the holes to survive, but what we end up with is a mess of patches and holes.



i like my father. hes a nice guy. he does things for me when i need them. other than that i dont really know him. i grew up without him. when i tried to go and live with him things were already changed. he didnt know how to raise a teenager because it didnt happen naturally for him like it was supposed to. i didnt know how to have a father in my life at that point. we never really clicked.

nowadays i dont see him all that often. i could say its because im too busy, and i sure am busy, but i could make the effort to go see him and i dont. i dont know what to say to him. i sit in uncomfortable silence watching the television, while his girlfriend talks a mile a minute and randomly inserts guilt about never coming to see them anymore. i look at my father and hes not even looking at me.

he made a comment to my sister about me not needing him. it hurt my feelings. but did it hurt my feelings because it wasnt true or because it was true. i dont really need him. ive gotten this far without him. hes never really been there. hes always been just off to the side as the last resort, or the fixer, or the gadget man. never someone i could talk to. never someone i could tell how i felt. never someone i could get an honest answer out of.

it saddens me in a way, cause no i dont need him. i wish i did need him. i wish i had a need for a father in my life.

i dont.

i wish i had a reason to go over there. i wish i had something to say to him.

i wish i didnt have to drag myself over there to get my time in so that they werent pissed off at me.

this was not my doing, so this should not be my fault. he fucked up by having kids with my mother. he fucked up when he couldnt make her happy. he fucked up for not trying hard enough. he fucked up for trying at all.

she fucked up for not trying to work anything out. she fucked up for never having any patience. she fucked up for throwing him away when things got to heavy. she fucked up for not being sure. she fucked up for having kids to young.

all that results is what follows.

we are divided because of them

my mother and my father made their own beds. they can lie in them.

we are the way we are because of their actions. they chose disfunction. they chose to have everything scattered. i will not feel guilty for things i do not feel for them any longer.

i will not do things the way they did.

i will find another way.