Friday, September 12, 2014

The storm before the calm.

The countdown is on. In three days, I'll begin the biggest road trip of my life. A cross-country trek is in order, with nothing to stand in my way. Look out New Mexico, here I come!

And of course... you had to call and suck the life force right out of me.

You may not realize it Father, but your voice alone makes me physically ill. Yes, I listened to your voice-mail. Of course I remember where I was on September 11, 2001. You and I were at home alone. We had breakfast. We watched the news and saw the second jet plane actually strike the World Trade Center on live television. Immediately, we knew there was a dastardly plot afoot.

And no, I have no intentions of calling you back. You see... there's a great divide in where you are and where you should be.

Here you are - believing all the world is right and you've not transgressed anyone.

Where should you be? Apologizing for all you've done wrong. The torment, the guilt, the suffering - it's all yours to feel remorse for.

That's the great big joke, though, is it not? You don't even realize what you should be sorry for. Three years on and you've forgotten how you assaulted my little sister. You've forgotten the lies you told. You've forgotten how you abused my ill mother in her time of dying, not to mention the infidelity. Oh yes, and you've also forgotten how you called my dear Crystal a voodoo witch (truth really is stranger than fiction). You have forgotten these things.

But I have not.

In place of these memories is your growing sense of sentiment. Father, I'm not sure whether you genuinely miss me or just want to feel better about yourself, but you're trying to fill that growing void.

Time is not the great nullifier, as you would have it. Nay, time has wiped no memories from my brain. I know what you've done. The real question is - do you know that I know?

Either way, you don't get to hear my voice. You've not earned the right to even hear the hollow breath escaping my lungs. For the past thirty-six hours, I've swollen up with a quagmire of feelings. As this evening settled upon me, I came to a final conclusion.

I'm not mad at you any more, Father. In fact, I pity you.

Anyone whom reads this blog regularly knows that my level of anger has lessened over the past few years. Writing this blog has been an effective tool in getting my emotional health back in order. This has coincided with an increased degree of control over my physical health, to which I feel immense jubilation. As I'm letting the physical baggage go, so too am I relinquishing my emotional baggage. Much of that is typical father-son angst, though more so complex in that our particular relationship (or lack thereof) is... combative. In the liberation of my spirit, I've decided to let much of my madness subside. I owe a great deal of thanks to the very people I aim to visit in my trek this coming week. 

Kathy, Billy... thank you for being there for me in my time of need. 

That being said, I'm not mad anymore. Anger ravaged my own health and personal relationships for far too long. It will grip my being no longer. As such... I'm not mad at you Father. That does not mean I'm forgiving of your actions, nor does it imply any degree of absolution. I'm simply no longer angry about the matter of our past.

At some point Father, perhaps you'll find it in your heart to say you're sorry. Say it to me, say it to your other children, say it to your dead wife. I know it's difficult for you, the egotistical sociopath that you are. What's the old saying -- "It takes one to know one"? You see, I came narrowly close to transforming into a sociopath myself... but one thing prevented me from doing so. 

My sense of guilt.

Slowly, but surely, I've stepped back from that ledge. No longer do I trivialize the feelings of others. I don't manipulate friends and family. I don't fabricate lies and weave stories constantly. I came damn close to becoming that which you are, Father. So close in fact, that I'm ashamed to admit it. All my life, I've let my heart hang heavy with guilt. More often than not, my guilt concerned events and people that I had no control over. It has been inexplicably linked to my anger, which I've come to let go of.

Ironically, it was my sense of guilt that saved me from you. I had the key to my salvation all along. I just couldn't see it.

Now, I see clearly. I've come to control my emotions more readily. The difference between you and I is apparent. When you're ready to apologize, you let me know. Until then, keep to your self.

Ahhhh... that feels better. How rewarding to unshackle that bit of emotional turbulence! My life force has returned; I feel rejuvenated and positive once again.

The Land of Enchantment truly is just beyond the horizon... and that feels right.

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