The Diary of Queen Mothy |
An Explosive Fight... Here we go again.. written @ 10:49 PM on June 07, 2003 Dad and I had an explosive fight last night. Oh yes, it was that bad. On a scale of one to ten, I rate that baby a twelve. Off the meter. I wasn't even in a bad mood or looking to fight until he came home and began critisizing Mom for making Jonathan take French in high school. I didn't think it was fair for him to blame her for Jonathan's failure, so I stepped in and began bitching him out about it. Well... things kind of escalated from there. It escalated to Mount Vesuvius vs. Pompeii proportions, in fact. All of a sudden before I could stop myself, I launched into this furious tirade of everything that had been on my mind for the past seven or eight months that I had been too scared to say-- and, to be honest, I said some things that I should not have said but did anyway because I was angry and on a roll to making my point. What I said was so awful that Dad took his car keys and left the house. I was quite sure he was never going to come back. And Mom went after him and began to drive over West Chester looking for him. By this time, I was up in the bathroom crying my eyes out for shooting my mouth off like that and I was convinced he was going to do something that would make me regret I was born. I felt so sick that I was posed to vomit. But twenty minutes later, my father returned, and then, as I was trying to apologize, he squared off against me, and then we fought at it for an hour and a half. Yes, every passing thought that I had about him for the past few months I finally brought to words. I had wanted to talk to him about these things later-- but I never anticipated it would have come out last night under such circumstances. It was awful, but I told him everything that I thought: that he goes out to drink too much, that he's depressed and mopey, that I know he's unhappy but it infuriated me that he does nothing about it, that he wasn't the same person I remembered when I was a kid... you name it-- everything I ever wrote about in this diary came flying out of my mouth. It was like I was reading the lines to a script. His reaction? He told me how he never wanted to be my role model because I'm "a better person that he ever was," that I'm not to worry or care about his life, that people change, that he has a different life philosophy than me, that his parents had a say in the person he became, that he had shit for brains when he was my age... and on and on and on. It made me sick to hear him tell me what a better person I am from him. It neaseated me to hear that I am just "to forget" about him. He admitted he had issues to sort out but otherwise my "accusations were unfounded." He told me that I am to go on and have a successful life, much better than what he ever dreamed to make of his life. Basically, all my words that I had locked up in both my diary and in my heart meant nothing to him. Absolutely nothing. It made me sick. If I had a weak constitution I would have physically thrown up. How could he have told me such things? How could he have thought for one minute that even at his worst moments I would just forget and not worry about him? Mom sat at the kitchen table and cried while we battled it out. When we quit, it was after midnight. I told my mom, "I am just about tempted to give up on him." But I am not giving up, not ever. I went to my room and cried in the darkness. I cried for over an hour. All the suppressed tears from the past seven or eight months, all the emotion I stifled, all the dark thoughts that I ignored and pushed to the back of my mind just suddenly flooded me. I could not stop crying even if I wished it. It all came out. I knew there were at least two spirits in my room from the way my cat was reacting. One was Dolan, I know. He was trying to talk sense into me, but I had to vent my frustrations. The other spirit? I think I know who it was, but I'm not sure; it could have just been wishful thinking. Mom came into the room. She said, "You said your peace. You tried. It's up to him now. It's up to him to change if he really wants to." I knew she was right; the fact that this situation is entirely out of my hands was comforting to know. At least I won't go on with any regret that I didn't do all that I could. And even now, I have hope. I will fight again if I have to. Because a daughter never "just forgets." *** In brighter news, I had two major genealogy breakthroughs. On one hand, I have successfully traced a branch of my mom's family back to 1460 France. Yes, *still* in France. I'm so French that as an American I almost hate myself. One relative of mine died in Switzerland, however, so there's a good chance I may yet be Swiss! And-- it's official-- I am English as well! I found a stray branch through my great-great grandmother's line, surname Thomas, that lived in Dover, England for a while. It doesn't matter that that family eventually moved back to France-- I'm one part English! And I'm excited! Eat your heart out, Heinz 57 Americans, that makes me: French/French Canadian, Polish, Ukrainian, Italian, Czechoslovakian, Austrian-Hungarian, Irish, AND English. In other family history news, two of my relatives were scalped by Iroquois Indians and yet somehow lived to tell the tale. There were some high-ranking French soldiers in my line as well; it's only too bad none of their money filtered down to my mother. I am discovering more and more crossed branches and further inbreeding in the Canadian lines (lol). No wonder my family is so screwed up. *** So compared to how shitty I was feeling last night, I'm doing better. I'm still a little... what's the word... I'm grieving still, yes. If I really wanted to, I could break out into tears right now. But things will get better. I know they will. I've still got the faith. And tomorrow's a new day.
A Bit of History ~ And Onward! L'Amour Toujours! - August 08, 2005 |
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