Sunday, 07/04/04 - 5:43 pm.
I was watching TV at noon:
- Dad: are you watching? I have to see a soccer match.
- Me: ok, in a minute.
My dad goes out of the room, to the bathroom. Then comes back:
- Dad: those movies are always repeated and you can watch them later! You are so thoughtless, so inconsiderate.
I automatically jumped out of my seat and turned to the channel he wanted to watch, mostly in shock at that uncalled-for scolding, and horrified by the tone. I'd started to say it's not a movie..., and I was going to finish with: it's not important, here's the remote, just to clarify, but he didn't let me finish. Like he cared whether it was important or not.
I sat at the computer, and I barely noticed that Yesterday was playing in the background (some kind of "collage" of soccer matches on TV). Something started to come up from my chest, and made a knot in my throat. I ran to my bedroom and locked the door, and I started to cry like a hysterical woman, trying to drown the sobs with my pillow. It took me by surprize, crying like that, but I couldn't help it, and I couldn't stop.
I thought it was unfair that he treated me like that. It hurt a lot, too. I was going to let him watch the TV, it's not like he'd told me three times. And the tone, emphasizing INCONSIDERATE hurt like being beat up with a broom stick. And my mind played and replayed his phrase, and I was devastated. It sounds insignificant, but it seriously hurt me. Why can't he be a little more tolerant and patient? Why won't he even let me explain A THING, EVER?
After crying for half an hour I sat on my bed, and I saw myself in the mirror. How come I look beautiful when I cry like this?. I had a crave right then, some appetitte for vengeance, and I opened the drawer in which I keep my razorblades. I thought of Joseph...but then I thought of the line I always gave Vic when he told me not to cut: well, you drink and you smoke...you're hurting yourself, you have no right to tell me I can't hurt myself. And I sliced my right wrist. I let the blood drip for a while on my journal (I always write in it when I cut, when I'm crying, or when I'm simply feeling like crap). Then I cleaned the wounds up and put on a wristband. And I said to myself: I am so thoughtless, so inconsiderate.
I went out of my bedroom for lunch, when my dad had finished eating. My mom is nice, because she never leaves the table until I'm done eating. But I just swallowed my meal trying to hold back the tears, and thinking "I should throw this glass at my dad's head, for hurting me and not even acknowledging, for being so selfish and making a fuss out of a soccer match". I wanted to yell at my mom, too: this is your fault, too, you always let my dad put you down, he treats you like shit sometimes and you don't do a thing! You should be the first one to speak up when he gets all rude, you're his wife! FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU! You've got him used to us being passive and now I can't defend myself!!!. It's not completely her fault. But I'm mad at her for letting my dad treat her a certain way.
I finished eating and went back to my bedroom, to cry again. Perhaps it's stupid that I cry so much over such thing, BUT FUCK YOU, BECAUSE IT HURTS. It's not the first time, and it's not the last time. I want to do something about it, I want him to know he's hurt me, and most of times innecesarily, but the moment I raise my voice to explain my dad starts victimizing himself, and you can't reason with him.
I heard the phone ringing, and my dad knocked on my door to hand me the phone, but I didn't see him, just his arm. If he's noticed I'm mad, he's thinking it's because I'm spoiled and because I can't stand no one telling me a thing, and because I'm pissed for not seeing the movie (I WAS NOT WATCHING A MOVIE, I WAS GOING TO LET HIM HAVE THE TV). He's like that, it's never his fault.
Well, it was Joseph. I guess I should start by saying that last night I got mad at him for getting drunk. Actually, I was talking to Fer online and he says: your boy just called me, and he sounded pretty happy. He's quite drunk. And I almost began to cry. By a few things I said, Fer interpreted that I was upset about it, and I told him I didn't want to sound like those girlfriends who don't want their guy to go out with his friends. It's not that, it's just that...., and Fer said: I know what you mean. I'd hate for my girlfriend to go out and get drunk. It shows how much you care about him.
I didn't say a thing about that to Joseph on the phone. He said he had a hangover, and I only said serves you well. He said he'd had a nightmare, that I was breaking up with him and he was begging me not to. Serves you well, I said again, that's what you get for getting drunk. And he said: please don't say that, darling. Don't scold me, I try to change, I am trying...you're all I need, I adore you and I am crazy about you. I said I wasn't scolding him (I was saying all that with a *cough* loving tone). Those three words, coming from you, are the harshest scolding I could ever get.
He asked me what was wrong, (because I was still sobbing) and I just said I'd had an argument over a soccer match. I was going to break down again, so I said I'd explain him later. I don't want you to suffer, love...when you suffer, I suffer two times more...but over soccer?, he said. I asked him if he liked soccer and he said no. I felt strangely relieved. At least he won't scold me over a soccer match.
He made me feel better, and during our conversation I forgot all about my dad. Joseph's coming over tomorrow, you know? We are very nervous about it (meeting my parents, specifically), but I'm getting to the point in which I don't care about anything, I just want to see him.
Aside from that, I've been locked up all day, crying. I feel hurt and misjudged, and the worst thing is that there's nothing I can do about it. I know this will sound horrible, but at a certain point I wished my dad was alcoholic and beat me up regularly...at least then I'd have to right to stand up and yell at him. I can't answer or say anything in my defense, because like all parents he uses that horrible weapon: do not raise your voice, or do not answer back (what's wrong in answering back if you're gonna be polite?). You just can't tell him anything, and he's got this "subtle" way of reducing you without using physical force. No, he's never done that to his children, he's a wonderful, loving father...it's just...I don't know. I just wish he wasn't so rude.
*
Thank God I was born in America, where there's more freedom and opportunities than anywhere else in the world. I'm thankful to all men and women who've died for me, so that I can enjoy that freedom.
Be thankful for one thing: I am not in the mood for tearing apart that statement and everything it implies.
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