The Waiting Game

Here it goes again...

Sometimes I find myself in the strangest of situations, as if I were on the outside, looking in. That's the only way I can describe it. I tend to get impulsive. Not a pretty thing, I know. Yet I watch it all happening, as things fall apart around me, helpless to intervene and stop them from happening. I can hear myself screaming NO, but move forward with the insanity that I create. And this week things finally dawned on me, things that I have suppressed, refused to let in, because in letting it back in, comes great emotional turmoil and pain. Who wants that? Well, unfortunately for me, I have to go through this. It is the only way to take back that control, to squash the impulsiveness.

My parents divorced when I was too young to remember. I have one memory as a child, I was 4 maybe 5. And when he finally showed up to play 'Daddy', I was so terrified, that I locked myself in the bathroom and refused to come out until he left. I can clearly remember my grandfather outside the open bathroom window talking to me, coaxing me to get up off the floor and let them in.

Flash forward to just before my 18th birthday. I went in search of the father I never knew. I needed answers that only he could give me. But what I got was a nightmare, and it seems that it has never gone away. I somehow managed to push it to the back of my mind, where it lingered, and as I got older, it has been pushing forward, driving me to do things I normally wouldn't even dream of. What kind of father, checks out his daughter with a man's eye? Yes, the first time he laid eyes on me, he told me that he did a good job, that I was hot. Just thinking about that makes me sick to my stomach. I let it go, afterall, here was my dad after all this time. So he began to weave of tale of how my mother kept my sister and I away from him and his family. Mind you, we lived within 5 minutes of one another. My phone number never changed, nor did the address where we lived. My father's interest seemed to be more about my mother. Not about me, or Michelle. He wanted my mother to see him, like he had some movie star quality, and needed her to see the error of her ways. I watched all this go down. I wanted him in my life, so I let all of his lies go, all the promises he made I came up with excuses for him. What the hell did I know? And then he disappeared again.

He called a few years later, but I refused to see him. He'd let me down one too many times. After I married and had Zak, I sent him a Christmas card. I wanted him to know all that he was missing. I didn't hear a word, so the following year I sent an "I HATE YOU" card, and for the next several years, I flipped back and forth. Finally I stopped, knowing it was getting me nowhere. And instead of dealing with the rejection, I pushed it aside. A few years later, I'm in Lebanon, and my mother sees him. And of course he says he wants to see me. But that was another lie, more rejection. And when I voiced the fact that I hated my father, I got chided, since he was the reason I existed. So I hid my anger, my pain, buried it down deep again. And I pushed all my friends away. Almost every single relationship I had, I walked away from. It was easier that way. I could stay in my little cocoon, and pretend that I was fine, and that is what I showed the world, my family. They always saw me happy, but when I was alone, those demons lingered.

I don't know why, but hitting 40 seemed to be an emotional experience for me. I finally knew what it was I truly wanted and started to go after it. I was eager to learn as much as possible, and started to put myself first, something I hadn't done since the age of 23. This of course met great resistance, since it was completely out of the norm at home. I let friends in again, because I felt safe, hiding behind the pc, no one had to know of my past, unless I chose to tell them. And all the while, that anger started to surface, and I tried to push past it, but I couldn't.

As the resentment towards my father came back, and I started talking about him, the man that raised me, that had stepped in to carry the burdon of making sure I grew up strong and able, passed away. It broke my heart. I held so much regret for not being there. And the hatred for my father resurfaced at an alarming rate.

Now I sit here, in an emotional nightmare. I have let people in, but only so far. Because when you get that close to me, I shut down, and push you away. It has nothing to do with who you are, but my fear of being rejected, or not being good enough. I wasn't good enough for my own father, how in the world can I possibly be any good to anyone else?

And then I realized something. My father is a sperm donor. Plain and simple. He gave me life, he gets kudos for that. But he also did one other good thing. He walked away. He knew he wasn't father material, so he never bothered to try. And I have to thank him for that, because had he stayed, I would be in worse shape than I am now.

So it seems I have a choice. I can work through the rejection, the anger and hurt, and finally lay it to rest. Or I can continue to wallow in it, let it eat away at me, and push those I love away leaving a path of scars along the way.

I'm too old to start over, but I can move forward. I must move forward. People are counting on me, and it's time I stepped up to the plate, dealt with my baggage, and become the person I was meant to be.

For those of you I've hurt along the way, pushed aside, ignored, and spoke out of line to, I'm truly sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I hope you can forgive me and understand just a little bit. I don't expect a second chance. I am determined to mend the fences I've broken. I need my friends and family in my life, to give back to all those that gave to me, whether I recognized it or not. I'm here to stay. The road will be bumpy I'm sure, but I've always been strong, and I am counting on that strength to help get me through.