Father
I confronted my father in 1997. I told him that I wasn't afraid of him anymore. He said he never wanted me to be afraid of him. That is a lie. He instilled fear in his children. He was dependent on that fear. Without it he could not parent.
My father has been exposed in many ways since I confronted him. Yet there are still those that believe his lies. Believe that he loves his wife and children. I don't and never will again. I feel a profound sadness. I thought my father loved me, but all I was looking at were the good times. The few times when he didn't shame me, didn't scream at me, didn't hit me. When he let me be me.
I would like to confront him again and and get everything out this time. I wasn't ready the first time. And yet I fear doing so would turn him against me. Isn't that silly? He's against everyone already. It couldn't be any worse. I would like to scream at him and hit him. And yet he's too pathetic. I couldn't really do to him what he did to me. I'm not that cruel. I imagine myself standing before him telling him how I feel. Telling him how much I hate him for hurting my little brother. The black whelps on my brothers legs. How my baby brother would shake when my father came into the room or even if he only heard his voice. I hate him for that.
I blame my father for my numbness and for my anger. Anger comes on me quickly and seems to be the one emotion I find hardest to control. Every other emotion I can numb. Not anger.
I just realized that I'm not breathing. My lungs and throat hurt. I take a shallow breath and hold it; take a shallow breath and hold it. I've been doing that all my life.
"Listen to your body Legs. You have to be willing to feel."
3-17-03@1:33 p.m.