So, first, I don’t get to sleep until well after 9:30am “today” (as in, Saturday morning). That SUCKED. I mean, really.
It’s because I’m worried about my appointment in two weeks. I know that much. Also, I’ve had to deal with some family drama, as usual.
I was awakened at god-only-knows what time later on by my dad thundering up the stairs then yelling, “Are you AWAKE, Bonnie?!? Are you AWAKE?!?”
He then proceeded to yell at me about something that I am, unfortunately, not able to mention here in detail, but I’ll say this much:
He was ill last year, and didn’t tell anyone about it because “it was none of [our] damned business.” He used this illness information as a weapon to get me to stop worrying about my blood test results (way to have it blow up in your face, Dad! I have Lyme disease, which was the worst-case scenario! Good job!), and gave the information to me in a way that was…less than mature. We’ll just put it that way.
Anyway, after realizing that I have/had active Lyme, I decided to let him know on Thursday night. I have no idea why I thought he would act like a normal dad and pat me on the shoulder or something emotionally useful, but he’s my dad, and I keep trying despite evidence to the contrary. We nearly got into an argument because I couldn’t answer his questions, and he was make accusatory statements about me misinterpreting stuff, so I finally just said, “I don’t know, Dad. Forget it.”
He went to bed angry, and my stepmom came out and told me that the three of us needed to have a talk, and would 7pm be okay with me? I said sure, figured out pretty quickly what they wanted to talk to me about (getting a job, moving out, blahblahblah), but was still pissed.
I posted my rant about my dad’s reaction on Facebook, after unfriending my stepmother, because I figured no one else would go out of their way to read through my status updates and comments and bring anything up to him. I’d only thought of that because I mentioned that he’d said his illness scare last year was no one’s “damn business”…I just find the whole thing hypocritical in my case, because he told me out of anger. After he told me, he told me he didn’t want me posting anything about it on FB or my blog or anything else. I said “Fine, I’m not.”
Well, then the EXACT SAME scenario happened Thursday, and I was pissed. I didn’t even write the details of the situation, just basically that he was an ass about it, but expects me to be all open and just analyze my illness with him when ALL I WANT, and ALL I’VE EVER WANTED, is a father who isn’t afraid to just shut up and pat me on the shoulder.
Yeah, I totally have Daddy Issues. I’m aware of this. HE has Daddy Issues, and his dad died when my dad was 11. Analyze that. Heh.
Anyway, on to today. My dad starts screaming at me about posting the info on FB, told me that I was a liar (for saying I wasn’t going to post it, then posting a vague reference to it), and that I’ve “really fucked up, now!” He then threatened to kick me out of the house if I “do ANYTHING like that again!”
He tried to slam the door, but there was a prop in the way (for the cats, so they don’t get stuck in or out), so the door ended up just bouncing open. Had I been more awake, I might have laughed, but he’d woken me up to ambush me, so I mostly just said, “Uh huh” when he asked if I understood what he was saying while covering my eyes because I have extreme photophobia when awakened suddenly.
All of this over his decision to lord an illness he DOESN’T HAVE over me to try to get the better of me when I was worried (for good reason) about being infected with something that can shorten my life and make the life I lead a living hell.
Being who I am, I’m not about to bend to the will of someone who’s clearly unbalanced and hypocritical, so I just unfriended most of my family members from my FB. I figure what happened was that someone read it, expressed concern about his health and asked what was wrong, and it went downhill from there. Rather than THINKING about it, he came up to scream at me and threaten me.
Clearly, I’m not at home right now. I’m at Kevin’s, and I’m allowing myself to be dragged to a Super Bowl party tomorrow to meet new people and not have to spend an entire Sunday up in my bedroom. The only reason I got out of the house without anyone trying to eviscerate me verbally was because my nephew (age 5) was there, and we try to avoid yelling around him because his parents did enough of that while he was a toddler.
To top it off? I actually had suicidal ideation for the first time in a loooooong time, and started my fucking period.
I tried to call my mom and couldn’t get a hold of her, so I called Kevin, and he came. So here I am.
I hate to drag other people into my family shit (physically, anyway…I’ll write about it all day long), but Kevin’s been great and supportive about it, and I feel so much better being here. I’m dreading going home, dreading even having to look at my dad, but that day will come (either tomorrow or Monday), and I’m just going to keep pretending nothing has happened, because otherwise, I don’t know that I would be in complete control of my emotions, and I’m just about had enough.
The past two years of my life have been very nearly close to hell. The past several months have come even closer. This past week, the flames are licking at my heels, and I have a very, very tenuous grasp of the edge of the cliff.
My liquor and firearms are staying here. I have knives for self-protection, and it’s not ideal, but I also have to carry a cane now, so it’s not like purse-carrying a gun (which is what I have to do because of body shape and pant-sizing issues) is very practical.
So let me just say this, and I hope you understand that when I say it, I have a damned good reason: Right now, I fucking hate my life.
I have hope. I wear St. Jude around my neck. Hebrews 11:1 is pretty much the only bible verse that I take any stock in. I’m not a religious person, but these things are a comfort, because I know that I’m not alone in using them in times of need. They’re also not self-destructive.
I’m scared shitless about so many other things, and now I have to be worried about ending up basically homeless and jobless because of a dick move by my dad that spawned two more dick moves (mine, then his).
I’m looking into armed security, night shift, as a job opportunity. I might as well work with my insomnia if I want to work.
In the meantime…I don’t know what I’m going to do. And that’s just really frightening. I get one answer, and something else goes haywire. Then I get another thing taken care of, and life throws me a curve.
I’m not saying anyone or anything owes me a break, but it would be a nice change of pace.