Session 4 – Dear Father – Part 1

Dear father, forgive me
‘Cause in your eyes, I just never added up
In my heart I know I failed you
But you left me here alone

If I could hold back the rain
Would you numb the pain
‘Cause I remember everything
If I could help you forget
Would you take my regrets
‘Cause I remember everything

 

Remember Everything by Five Finger Death Punch

 

I find myself in the song. Which is ironic, considering I remember nothing. I’ve been told that your brain files away your memories until you’re ready to deal with them. And here I am, on the verge of opening Pandora’s box.

I don’t know what to say about my father. I was asked tonight in my latest session to describe him. His characteristics, sins, faults, weaknesses, strengths. I drew a blank. I’ve spent the last 3 years excluding my dad from any piece of my life. Let’s start with some background.

My mother took my sisters and I to Colorado because she feared him. Emotionally. Mentally. He had never physically harmed her, but the emotional abuse was too much for her to take. She feared for her life. I’ve felt the emotional abuse from him before, but never on that level. And up until a couple years ago, I thought he left us. After all, he left the house first. Packed up and moved back in with his parents at the ripe age of 49. I was 7. And that, is my first true memory.

We were forced to talk on the phone with our dad every Sunday, for at least an hour. I hated Sundays. Instead of coming home from church, reading the comics, and lounging about all day, I had to prep. Prepare for the hardest, most emotional time of my life. I would often just stop talking when that hour hit until he asked me to pass to phone on to one of my sisters. I remember bits and pieces of these conversations. Every week during school it was the same thing. Unless my grade was 100%, he would spend the next hour telling me how I failed completely because I didn’t study enough. If I had actually cared about school I would have studied to make sure I got every question right. The problem is, he was right. But I had this insane desire. A longing. Friends. I wanted friends. I wanted to be a kid. Play sports. Ride bikes. Laugh and play with other people my age.

Bruce came to live in Colorado for a while. Claimed he wanted to be near us. But when the weather didn’t clear up his “illnesses” he decided to move back to Illinois. I was 11. And this is the first time I truly saw my dad as the manipulative liar he is. He took me out to talk. Asked if I wanted big fries or small fries. I had never had fast food in my life, and I longed to try French Fries. So in my childlike innocence, I shouted with all the glee of a 3-year-old, “Big!” Enter KFC. Potato Wedges. Which leads to a new half-hour lecture about how unhealthy French Fries are and I should never eat them. Which is why he chose the ever-healthy KFC.

He then proceeds to talk about our future. Of how when he gets back to Illinois, he is going to file for divorce. Because he is tired of living alone. Because my mom won’t come to her senses and move back in with him. How he is going to file for custody of me because my mom knows nothing of how to raise a son. Unlike him. Mr. Perfect. The man with all the answers. My savior.

I then go back home, shaking. Trembling because I must prepare myself for some time in the next couple of years when I will be ripped from my family, friends, everything I know, to go live with an asshole who will raise me to be just like him. My dream of dreams. And I wait.

For years I wait. Expecting this to happen at any time. But it never comes. No divorce. No custody battle. No update. And yet I continue to talk to this wretched man every week. And then it happens.

But it’s not what you think. I grew up. I realized I didn’t have to talk to this man. I longed for a relationship with him. I longed to make him proud. I had foolishly continued to share my successes with him. I was shipped off to spend a couple weeks with him each year. Weeks filled with failed attempts to play catch. Hours spent listening to lectures on the hazards of listening to rock music. For what? Why did I continue to pour my soul out to him? So I cut back. I didn’t talk to him every week. I didn’t share my entire life. I shoved my feelings down deep. I created vague answers. Life turned from color to grey.

Life changed. I made friends. I was less angry. On the surface. When I shoved my feelings away to get through an hour with him, I learned to shut my feelings out in all my life. I became less like myself. I formed a deep-seated depression. Curse words became more prevalent in my thoughts. I let the hurt and anger fester. Bury itself deep within. My entire life became a lie. I felt no emotion.

I wore masks. I knew exactly how to fake love. Care. Happiness. I even fooled myself. I thought it was all real. But all I felt was anger. Sadness. The overwhelming urge to cry. But no. I couldn’t let myself cry. Men don’t cry. Men don’t feel sadness. Christians don’t feel sadness. Joy. Only joy.

I soon stopped talking to Bruce on Sundays. I spoke with him occasionally, typically on holidays. And not for very long. Just enough to appease my mother’s desire for us to have a relationship. I’m not sure she ever realized how dysfunctional it was. My sisters would often curl up in their beds and cry for hours after speaking with him. But I showed no emotion. I never spoke of such things. I think she actually believed we had a relationship.

Over the years I’ve tried to mend my relationship with that man. To this day I still long to have a loving relationship. To be able to call him for advice. To learn how to be a real man from him. I went to college in Missouri. Only 6 hours from him. He hadn’t come to my high school graduation. He’d come when both of my sisters had graduated. But I justified it. That had been years earlier. He went to my sister’s college graduation. The same year I graduated high school. But I justified that too. She was in Missouri after all. That is much closer than Colorado. So I traveled far away for college. I had hopes of reconciliation. I visited him on the short holidays. 3-day weekends. And each one was just as painful as those summers growing up. And then came graduation day. No dad…

He claimed he had to stay in Illinois to help mow the yard. Sure, large farm yard. Takes a full day on a riding mower. But for your son’s only college graduation? Ok, maybe he doesn’t care. But I still tried. I still believed it could change.

I had met a girl while in college. A girl from back home. I was in love. I proposed. I called my dad to tell him. I don’t remember him saying congratulations. We spent 25 minutes of that 30-minute call talking about his health and fixing the lawn mower. I remember him asking why he hadn’t met her yet. I invited him to our wedding. He couldn’t come. He didn’t think his health would allow it. 3 years later we find out we’re having a child. I call him. I joyfully, excitedly tell him. He starts talking about logistics. It’s his way of showing he cares. Of dispatching wisdom. But there is no joy in his voice. No excitement. For his first grandchild. But ok, I decide to give him time.

My sister gets engaged. She plans her wedding for September. The month before our daughter is to be born. He comes. Because it is an important life event. He wants to be there for his child. We speak. It is more pleasant than usual. I have a greater hope that things will change.

Our daughter is born. Our beautiful baby girl. I call him. With more joy than I have ever felt in my life. I want to share the most incredible and exciting news with him. We then have a conversation for the next half-hour about why our name choice is ridiculous. How she will hate us for the rest of her life because of our name choice. He gives a list of names that we should change it to. I hang up.

And that is the last time I spoke to my dad.

So now we’re back at today. There I am, sitting on a couch. Thinking of how to describe this man who has hurt me so deeply that I’m afraid of exploring who I am. I want to dive in. I’m ready to dive it. And I’m terrified.

Selfish. Caring. In his own way. Lazy. Hard-working. In his own way. Jackass. Hurtful. Arrogant. Fake. Conceited. Did I say hurtful? Sad. Lost.

I hate him. I love him. I cry for him. I long for him. I need him. But I have shut him out of my life. The moment he decided to spend his time ridiculing my daughter’s name, that is the moment I had to act. I would not allow him into my daughter’s life. I would not allow him to hurt her the way he has hurt me. To destroy the life of my wife and daughter. I would not let him touch their hearts. He can be a fun man to be around. But when you let him in, shit gets real. You see the hurt in him. You see the pain passed down from generations before him. I want desperately to have him be a part of my life. But I will not choose to put my family at risk. He has shown over and over again he will hurt us.

I have spent my life trying to not be like him. Petrified to move forward in life from the fear of being his duplicate. His disciple. Ignoring my own life, my own desires, because I’m afraid they may be similar to his. Denying myself the pleasure of knowing who I am. Of pursuing my own hopes and dreams. Of making my own decisions because they might turn out to be his decisions. No more. Tonight, it ends. Tonight, I become.

Tonight, I am.

Session 2 – Release the Panic – A Lesson in Coping

Breathe in, breathe out

Breathe in, breathe out

Blackout

Let your panic out

Release the Panic by Red

 

Panic. Fear. Delight. Exhilaration. Let it out. Release the hounds. Our emotions are like a pack. A zoo. A massive collection of animals behind a gate. We open that gate. The emotional animals run rampant. Everywhere. Never to be corralled again. And yet, we keep opening that gate. We allow them. But we aim for just a few. A small number of escapees. Then shut the gate tightly behind them.

This never seems to work quite right. They just keep coming. And we desperately try to put them back in. But it seems overwhelming. It seems hopeless. We’re passing out. Our brain can’t handle the extreme amount of raw emotional trauma that is blowing a hole in the side of our prison wall. Tonight, I struggle to rebuild that wall. Rebuild the rubble that is left from my session. Drain my thoughts in coffee. Cure my emotional hangover. Cope.

Cope. My definition had always been “To suppress emotion with a mind numbing experience.” Grab a guitar and slam out some chords. Drive over the speed limit with the windows down. Crank the shit out of the radio. Give the world some secondhand rap (In Stereo by Fort Minor). Save yourself from the winding stairway destined to drag you into an emotional pit of despair. Escape.

Turns out coping isn’t all bad. The brain has many sections. I want to focus on two main pieces; the organizational section, and the emotional section. I was given a breakdown on these by my therapist in my latest session.

The emotional section. A more primitive section. Not often explored. A rainforest that we must machete our way through. As soon as we fight our way in, the path is overgrown again, and we must forge a path back out. It can seem overwhelming. I often avoid this section, so why stop now? Let’s move on.

The organizational section. The main, exterior portion of our brain. This is where we organize, plan, and handle most of our life. It is used the most. This is why emotions can feel so overwhelming. So untamable. Dealing with emotions gives our organizational section a break. We become light-headed. We waiver. We feel.

If the largest portion of our brain, the portion that is worked out the most, takes a break, then what are we left with? We are a baby taking their first steps. We’re unsteady. Wobbly. Testing this new way of life on our way to the greatest destination ever. Home. Everyone has a different definition of home. Some believe it is strictly where they live. Some view family as home. Friends as home. If you combine these, I believe home is where you feel safe. When you test your legs, you head towards something sturdy. A couch. The open arms of a loved one. This doesn’t change when you get older. Test your emotional legs. Where do you aim? The arms of a loved one? A crutch?

Sleep. I often aim for sleep. I feel safe in my bed. I feel comforted. But most of all, I escape. I leave this world of shame, disappointment, and feelings behind. When I sleep, I don’t feel.

But that is a lie. I always feel. Feelings consume us. I used to consider myself even-keeled. Gently going about life without disturbance. Unless I was feeling. A feeling destroyed any semblance of peace. I was wrong. Even-keeled = Apathy.

Apathy – lack of interest, enthusiasm, or concern

I was apathetic. Life was boring. Dull. I would find myself no longer enjoying the activities I took such delight in before. The thrill of driving with all the windows down, on a warm summer night, music cranked so the car shook, backroads, stars from a field. Gone. I faked it. I faked happiness. I grew angry. The anger I spoke of last week broke me. I couldn’t understand where it came from. Where it was pointed. It was pointed at me. I hated who I had become. This wasn’t life. This wasn’t me. So I broke the chain. I sought out a therapist and forced myself to go. I dug in. Deep.

And here I am. Writing to you from a coffee shop. Sipping my macchiato and stumbling through the shitty, tangled mess that is my life. In the wise words of my counselor, “Fuck.” He gets it. He’s there, tracking with me. Helping me express what I’m truly feeling, even when I don’t feel the strength to be vulnerable in front of him. Words can be emotions. One word, completely expressing all the emotions I’m feeling.

 

What I excel in best

Is my excessiveness

Self-deprecation

I hate myself sometimes

How can I be down when all that I want is in my reach

What’s wrong with me?

Fuck it

Sumtimes I can feel so touch and go

Sumtimes as my self-esteem is low

Sumtimes… at least I know sumtimes I’m beautiful

 

Sumtimes by Taproot

 

The album Welcome by Taproot has been so influential in my life. Growing up, I never listened to the lyrics. I loved the sound. The angry metal drilling into my soul. It wasn’t until recently that I actually paid attention to the information collected into these tracks. It felt like my life. This song speaks on a deeper level. The reality is he struggles with life. He struggles with confidence in himself. But in all of it, he knows he is beautiful. This is the essence of all I am running towards. The core value of my personal standards. No matter what in life, I am (enter positive affirmation here). I am created in the image of God. A good friend Matt told me that. I laughed. Of course I am, I thought. I’ve been raised with that belief. But Matt took it one step further. “You are made in the image of God, and God makes no mistakes.” Whoa. Talk about being floored. God makes no mistakes. I am not a mistake. I never have been. I never will be. He created me specifically. And he placed these emotions in my life. But then God went one step further. He gave me ways to cope.

We are only human. There is only so much we can take. We were created with emotions, but we chose to sin. We chose the world over God. And in that, we now struggle. Life is hard. But we have also been created with those talents, those skills, that give us peace. That relax the masses at the gate. When I pick up the guitar and play The Fire, a song I wrote a couple years back, my world changes. I feel the incredible stress melt away. I regain vision. Color returns. No longer am I living in a 1950s cop drama. When I write, all the crud, all the muck I’ve been wading through falls onto the paper. My thoughts are transformed. I had trouble focusing on my work today. I just kept thinking of coming here, to my regular spot, and plastering my emotions on this page. Renewing my mind. Rejuvenating my soul.

The world is a mess. A wonderful, beautiful mess. And it is yours. No matter what you believe, no matter what you feel, this world is wonderful. Release your mind to feel the breeze, to feel the crisp winter air. Feel your emotions. Let it run through your body. They are in you. They are you. Embrace them. Breathe in, breathe out, and blackout to your emotions.