Wednesday, October 15, 2008

reverberating anxiety.

tonight C and i watched the latest episode of house off of our DVR. house's dad died; cuddy drugs him; wilson kidnaps him per his mother's request for house to give his dad's eulogy at the funeral. house's antics make no attempts whatever to hide his disdain towards his dad. he goes on to say that perhaps if his dad had been a better man, that he, himself, would be a better man as well. he then proceeds to steal dna off his dad in the casket to prove to wilson that this man is not his biological father. upon the dna results (which were miraculously speedy), he tells wilson the news; that this man isn't his biological father, that he'd been correct at figuring out, at twelve years old. the short of the long is, house turns out to be upset that even after his dna discovery, that his feelings for this man still haven't changed. he then looks at wilson and says, "my dad is dead."
i recognized that sentence. i empathized with the emotions, even though i am well aware that it is merely an actor portraying a role in a tv series. but damn, that still struck a chord within me. if you'd told me this time last year that these peoples' deaths would have effected me to this point, i'd have asked what you were smoking. i never ever thought that any feelings i had towards this man, would be half as deep as they ran.
i know others who suffered WAY worse abuse at the hands of their fathers. in comparison... you just can't compare the damages sustained to me versus the damages sustained to them. others can still feel the sting of a slap or hit, some can hear the footsteps at night,...i can still feel that anxiety of wondering if my heart could handle the sheer amount of fear itself, coursing through my veins like poison. the screams still make me flinch. he was my monster in the dark. he was literally a son of a bitch. to the letter. he may have provided for most of his children, but facts are, that he was NOT a good man. and damn sure NOT a good father to me. i am unsure if i can ever be fully healed from the scars he bequeathed to me... as i never was without any scars, so what would i know of healing? all i can do, i think, is go on. talk about the pain, write my crappy little poems, and my shotty art,...just to get it out. and buddha help me, if i am fortunate enough to have a legacy, it is my duty as a human being, as a living, breathing, loving soul... to break that cycle of abuse, no matter how big or small.