it felt good an horrible at the same time

March 1, 2007

I told my dad to shut the fuck up tonight.

He says to me “You never brind my grandson to see me.”

I respond “Well, dad, the house isn’t in the best of shape. There’s the dogs. Frankly it’s a health hazard, and probably why you and mom feel like shit most of the time.”

“Our house isn’t good enough, I guess.”

I was so pissed about hearing that crap. Isn’t good enough? No it’s fucking not! “You don’t take care of the place well, and it was rundown a bit when we moved in (a good 13 years ago). I’m pretty sure I’ve seen mold on the bathroom wall. It’s a health hazard.”

He said something about me keeping my son from him. That’s when I said it.

“Dad, shut the fuck up. I don’t ever want to hear you complain about not seeing him when you’ve made little or no effort to do so!” We were at work, I was pissed, and frankly on the verge of yelling. He got up to run away from me, walking to the coffee machine. His usual attempt to dodge an issue. Run away. He wasn’t getting out of this that easy, though. These words have been waiting to come out for a long time. “I’m trying to have a normal relationship with you, but you won’t fucking help me. I’m tired of being the only one to try.”

“Why don’t you just stop then?” He said. His voice was in that tone I know so well. It said ‘Life sucks. It always has. It always will. This is my life being shit, and it’s everyone’s fault but my own.’ THAT’s what that tone means. It’s the tone I’ve heard all my life, and the tone that made me as negative as I am. I was done. This conversation was mine to end, not his.

“Because I’m fucking not you, dad.” was spat out, filled with so much venom it made me feel sick. But it is the truth, and always has been. I’m NOT my father. I never was, and if I can help it I never will be.

That’s when I walked away. I would have kicked the door open and slammed it shut again had I been anywhere else. I crossed the reception area of the office through another door, and when it closed it closed on more than just another section of the office.

I talked before about feeling used, and it hit me then that he was using me too. We did not have a normal relationship ever.  We never will, because I refuse to be used as his thing that you use when you do nothing but bitch and complain. It’s all he does. Nastiness seeps from his pores in a passive aggressive cloud of poison at every second he’s awake, and likely when he sleeps too. Too many slanderous comments against my ex, myself, and fucking everything. I’m done.

As angry as I was; and as good as it felt to finally afterso many years get that out, I had to fight the urge to break down. I would not cry, yet again, over someone who cared too littleto really try and be anything but a bitter old man. He’s not worth it.

I have reached the limits of my patience with almost everyone around me. I have said for many years I have the patience of a god, with  all the time in the world. Others mark it as a defining quality of mine, even. No fucking more. I’ve spent too long biting my tongue, and taking the easy way out. No more running from anyone or anything.

The old Walin is dead, and I don’t mourn for him. He was a pathetic, weak willed, little bitch. He deserves the rest that he has now. The new Walin is here to take the burden, and shoulder in a new way that will not be used, that will not be brought down, and will be the man that old Walin always wanted to be. The man others KNEW he could be.

I’m headed for interesting times.


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