I've got more anger than pictures, and fuck you for wanting to look at something pretty anyway.

Jennie, my sister, told me two days ago that her father (ok, my father too) is marrying Cheryl Phillips.  Her father apparently proposed on the 3 month anniversary of our  mother's death.  Jennie is really upset.  I am not.  I am upset that my father didn't tell me.  I am upset that my father has cut off any place I can go home to.


However, two days (3 days?) prior to her father's proposal to Cheryl, Jennie agreed to invite two boys into her home.  I know one of their names: Crack Payton.  The other kid I call, in the darkest recesses of my mind and heart, retard.  Sure, look at his pictures on my sister's blog:  http://www.best4everfamily.blogspot.com.  That's a retarded kid.

I almost deleted the above because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings.  But I'm tired of that.  I've decided that for tonight, I can ignore both my sympathy and empathy.  And if you don't know the difference, then you should take a picture with the retarded kid. And Fuck You For Judging Me.

You know what I have to deal with?  Every day I wake up and live with what/how I think.  I don't need God, I don't need two new kids, and I don't need a new wife.  If I did need God, guess what I wouldn't need:  something to fill a hole.  Because that's what God is supposed to do for you.
Dad:  It's pretty significant that god has always followed the path of least resistance for you.  Keep on moving on.
Jennie:  I wouldn't need to grab two more broken kids just to prove that I could fix them, simply because God can't fix you..
Mom:  I wouldn't die just to fuck me, nor would I say that God wants me to die.  That's what you said.  If that is your god, then I was right in reviling him..
Tim:  I would stop hating everyone so much, because it kills you a little bit, every day.  Even though every hour proves you right...every minute proves you right.
Tim:  I know you are dying to love, and by loving you think you are slowly dying.  That's not true.
Tim:  You don't have the open heart of your sister, nor do you have the closed heart of your father.  So you have to figure out how to be.
Tim:  You don't have the belief of either you father or your dead mother:  that simply means you are stronger.  Your love means more, because it's only yours

I don't need a new mother.  I don't need two retarded nephews.  I don't need a father.  I don't need anything.

But I want my sister.  I really do.  And I will take all of your choices in stride, because I know you will take all of mine in stride.

I don't need you in my life Jennie.

But I want you there.

I love you.

Tim

Father Issues

I recently returned from a week in the US.  I would like to say that I returned from a week at home, but...I don't have a home.  I've lived in a basement room at my father's parsonage in Suffern, and my dead mother gave me an upstairs room at my father's house in Utica.  I don't have a home in either place:  I have no friends, no acquaintances, so I have no home.

 

This is a picture of two things:  a picture of the street outside my father's house in Utica, but it is a picture of my father's heart.  He has been driven over so many times that tracks are obvious in his behavior. During the week (6 days) that I was in NY, my father had "other plans" for 5 of them.  Those plans were, specifically, seeing an old Richfield Springs church member for 4 days, and having dinner with a current Suffern church member  for 1 day.

Granted, my father and I have never had a "close" relationship.  Yes, he is still hurting in ways I don't understand (you know, mother's death and all that jazz).  But he is not changing because of his hurt.  I've changed because of that hurt, specifically I've become brutally honest: if I don't know you, I just don't give a fuck about you, and I don't give a fuck if you like me or not.  If I do know you, how much I talk to you really depends on if I like you or not.  My father does not have that capability.  But he has a capability to alienate me by refusing to spend time with me.  

Is it any wonder that I wasn't there for my mother's death?

I have only known two adult role models, and both of them taught me that my time is either the church's or my own (and because of my current leaning...it's gotta be my own).  That lesson was learned in a negative space:  other people deserved more time with my parents than I did.  Strangers deserved time with me.

And that's wrong.

My sister proclaims, and my mother used to, that my father "would do anything" for us.  That's a lie.  It's a bunch of words branded in my sister's mind to make up for the simple fact that her father, my father, will not "do anything" for her.  In fact, his behavior indicates that he will do anything but "anything."  Being hurt does not give clemency.  Because we, my sister and I, are worth more. And I will not buy the lie my mother sold.  My father is eternally, fatally flawed.  I'm not sure I love him.

Knock knock

Who's there

Your son

Oh...then I'm leaving.

It should be no wonder that I'm never coming back to you.

 

Before I went back to the US, I went to Global Village at Dubailand.  I went by myself (see tirade above), and it was certainly worth the 10 Durham entry fee. It was not worth 40 Durhams per park ride, nor was it worth the 43 Durham (each way) taxi drive.  But at least it had bright lights, unlike the rest of Dubai. =-)

 

If you've ever been to a really crappy amusement park...rethink crappy.  

 

  

 

 

Even though you are rethinking crappy, as am I, I remember seeing this woman (pictured above).  I remember seeing the women below.

I remember what it is like to be invisible.

And because of that, I refuse to be visible.  If you don't know me, you have no right to see me.  If you know me but don't see me, Dad, it's your loss.