Begin to Delve into Nineteen Twelve

I write this in the fine tradition of the airing of dirty laundry. Exposing myself in a public forum. Showing more than you want to see. My dirty panties are on display.

Ew. Panties. I hate the word panties. I much prefer underpants. Panties sound icky. I imagine something pink. With hearts. Something frilly. I'm not so much down for the pink-hearts-frilly.

But I was talking about exposing myself. And not the kind of exposing that you could go to prison for. Why am I doing this again? Oh yes. I remember now. I am doing this because I want you to understand. Actually that is not true. I am doing this because I know some of you will never read it.

And maybe someone will. Perhaps some human bean will stumble upon these words and find solidarity with a stranger. Maybe someone will read this and believe that they are not quite so weird after all. They will feel better about themselves because they will know that at least they are not as strange as that weird grrl airy her dirty laundry in a public space.

Why don't I just begin.

Several days ago I remembered that today is my father's birthday. Not only did I remember this, but I also realized that in July he will have been dead for twenty years.

I had to pause when I came to this realization. And while I was pausing I happened to be driving. Merging to be more specific. Attempting to merge in this city can sometimes be a catastrophe. For some reason merging seems to be a lost art and I wonder if those of us who have merging skills should start a secret society and take over the world.

Uh...ahem. I mean. Twenty years ago feels impossible. For anything. It is someone else's lifetime. Most certainly not mine. I am far too young to remember twenty years ago. But really, I'm not that young anymore. Even though I sometimes feel as if I am five years old.

The problem with dead people is that it is easy to remember them as someone they were not. I have had my moments of remembering my father as a man who was not the man that he was. I do not mean to be Dr. Seuss about it. But I find this to be an accurate statement.

It is quite similar to the ways in which we might recall a former partner as someone more wonderful than they were when we were dating them. Sometimes we forget they this person was an ass and when they call we block out the reasons that the relationship ended in the first place. And then we remember.

It's exactly like that. Only different. Because in this case the call will never come. And if it ever does I am certainly not accepting it collect. In circumstances such as these we will never be reminded unless we choose to consciously remember.

I cannot recall if I was angry at my father for dying. It seems logical. It's one of those death step thingies. It is more likely that I was angry at him for leaving me with an emotionally crippled parent. And most certainly for not being the father that I needed him to be.

I do not know very many beans who have or had one let alone two parents who were able to give them what they needed. I doubt my experiences are all that unusual in this realm. And after twenty years -- my that is painful to type -- one would think that such things would no longer fill my thoughts. But they do. And sometimes they do not so much fill my thoughts as influence my emotional state and affect my interpersonal relationships.

Which, quite frankly, sucks. Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic. But I am most certain that I have spent an unconscious lifetime searching for the qualities in others that I desperately needed in parental figures.

Unconditional love and support are words in a language I have never known. And I am always teetering on the edge of wanting something and expecting nothing. And when I wobble in this place it is quite easy to manipulate the data and see exactly what your mind and experiences expect.

Any action or lack of action can be manipulated to fit the mold. Assumptions run wild and rampant. And then I am five years old again. Suppressing my authentic identity that was never ever good enough.

I believe that this has impacted me more strongly as of late because my relationships have changed. My tough exterior has begun to crack or melt or slip off like a snake shedding its skin. And this has caused me to feel emotion differently. Sometimes at the most random nonsensical moments.

Everything I learned as a child is still with me. Insecurities. The belief that I am unworthy. Unlovable. Never good enough. The subliminal messages run deep. They defy logic. I argue with myself about their validity. But they remain.

I have no words of wisdom to end on. There are no silver linings. Brilliant glimmers. I have no epiphanies. Sometimes things simply are what they are and one can only continue traveling down the path arguing with the self and trying not to look like too much of a fool in the process.