Saturday, September 26, 2009

It was beyond my control

It's amazing how people who are supposed to care for us bring us down with their cruelty! We can have nothing but good wishes and pure feelings for them, and yet they manage to twist all that in our faces and cut us deep with vicious words and even more vicious acts. The funny thing is; we can't hate them, we can't denounce them, we can't hurt them back, and we can't turn our backs to them and say "No more!" because we're bound by sacred bonds and vows.
I tried once to denounce a man I should have cared for; my father. Reasons for the rift don't matter; it's enough for me I know in my heart I couldn't have forced myself to do better and I had excuses. The problem was I had divine instructions that I shouldn't alienate myself from him, and as God is my witness, I tried! I talked to myself in my loneliness, I talked to myself on my diary, and I talked to God and asked him to forgive my total and utter inability to be good to my father. My father, without intending to, made me love things that I now take pride for loving, but he also made me hate life with him, and hate myself for my deep differences with him. Parents shouldn't be hated like that, parents shouldn't bring such aggressive feeling from their kids, yet my father did.
I punished myself over and over after his death, I tried to redeem my actions by being overly good to my mother, and yet I kept feeling that nothing will wash away the bad things we did and said to each other. This has been going on for seven long years; with no day passing by without me thinking this whole thing thoroughly in my heart and mind. Only this year I began to think about this more calmly after my old diaries resurfaced. I wrote about days that were especially bad, and I wrote about the day he died. I could have included both sorts of entries here to illuminate the acute and different feelings I had in both situations, but it would have been too severe, because even I who wrote these things couldn't stand it. The conclusion of my thoughts was this: If he was still alive I would have toned down my reactions, but things would still be bad, because the problem was with his performance as a father, not with differences that we can see among all families; differences that go away with reason. Maybe I was young and didn't understand the gravity of my furious reactions, but his actions were inexcusable under any circumstances. The bottom line for me was I can now say "Please God forgive me, but you knew what was going on, and you knew I tried hard to be what you asked me to be, but his actions were beyond my control."

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