Revealing Some Things About Me

Someone else's blog encouraged me to write something a little deeper today. Something more than complaining about my job or talking about my boyfriend. Oh, and last night's "Grey's Anatomy" may have contributed as well. Let's see, what happened on Grey's Anatomy last night. If you don't watch the show you'll have no idea what I'm talking about but here goes. Meredith and Lexi's dad came into the hospital with a failed liver. This was due to all the alcohol he drank, although he had been sober for 90 days I guess. Anyway, he actually was a dad to Lexi growing up so she immediately got tested to see if she could donate part of her liver to him. She wasn't a match. Meredith barely knew him growing up. He had never been a father to her. She had no intention of even checking if she could donate to him. But Lexi pleaded with her and she was a match and she did it. Yes, it's just a TV show. But of course it got me thinking...

My father is a jackass. Plain and simple. I haven't talked to him in over 10 years and I don't plan to any time soon. I've only talked to him once or twice since my mom left him in 1997. I was a freshman in high school. I put up with him for the first 15 years of my life. And there's no way I can imagine donating part of my liver to save his life. And knowing the way things go, I'd probably be a match. That's just the way it is. But I wouldn't even get tested.

One thing I do like about living in the area I live in now is I know I'm not going to see him when I'm out and about somewhere. Living in my hometown there was always a chance. Granted, he was such a recluse and rarely came out unless it was to go to the bar at night so it wasn't that like even back home, but there was always that possibility. But why, you ask, did was I so scared at the thought of running into him? Even I don't really know...

You see, growing up I knew my father had a temper. That much was obvious. And you could tell by the look on his face and the evil gleam in his eyes when he was mad. The thing is, he never hit me. I don't recall him ever even yelling at me. This is why I'm not quite sure why I get a horrible feeling in my stomach at the thought of running into him, or hearing his voice on the phone. My mom was the one he hit. I didn't even witness that very often, although I was not a dumb child and knew what was going on. I'd wake up to tables turned upside down and holes punched in walls. Finally the glass was broke so many times in our coffee table we put plywood (sp?) in it. *sigh* I think the worst part I remember...well, since I didn't really witness the abuse to my mom. The worst part I remember was the abuse to our dog. We had one dog until I was in middle school or late elementary school or something. I'm not sure, I really don't remember timelines all that well. Anyway, he was incredibly abusive to her. God, it's pissing me off just thinking about it. She'd just be laying in her bed, minding her own business and he'd walk up to her and start kicking her and moving his foot around on her roughly. And that wasn't all. But I can't write about it anymore right now. How's this for a nice Friday blog? I need a shrink.