I’m going home this evening. Woke up slightly before sunrise and spent the next two hours trying to talk myself out of it.
Should be some kind of sign that I failed in that task.
I have talked about my daddy issues several times on this blog. Once even writing a letter to him. After what seems like forever, the day I’ve known for at least 3 years was coming has arrived.
My dad is moving out.
I always thought that I was far enough removed that when the time came I could just be thankful that my mom didn’t have to deal with him. No more mood swings. No more childlike impulsive decisions. No more callousness in the guise of humour.
It’s not even that I’m sad or even angry any more. When it comes to the man who gave me my first name and who I resemble to a ridiculous extent; there is this sense of numbness,one born from years of practice. Of necessity.
When I sit and really think about it, I have spent a good portion of my life trying in every way possible to not be remotely similar to him. Wasn’t entirely successful and was probably never meant to be.
I intend to help him finish packing.
And I couldn’t seem to stop asking myself why.
Because of him, I know I can take pretty much anything from anyone without keeping my heart in ice.
Because of him, I know I can do what I need to.
Because of him, I know I can thrive on my own.
Because despite everything, despite the fact that he is nowhere near the ideal father, I can still be a good son.
And that, dear friends, seems to be the point of the whole thing.