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elizabethA few days ago in therapy (the useful kind, not the group thing, which I'm still totally underwhelmed by) Dr. L pointed out that it's striking that I'm hesitating about what to do about pater's letter. That I'm even willing to consider engaging with him again, willing to think about having her tell him, "sure, come on in and we'll talk" is something I don't think I could have done six months ago. Granted, in my head, it's contextualized as calling his bluff more than anything else -- I don't honestly believe he would be willing to talk to my therapist -- but it's still responding to (what I see as) an inappropriate request with anything other than "no."
I want to call his bluff, yes, and I know that it is utterly impossible to comprehend how well and truly fucked-up my father is without meeting him, and more information can't but help Dr. L (right?), but a part of me that i've learned to trust a great deal over the last few years makes the point very loudly that pater will take anything other than no as near capitulation. I don't know that I can afford to change the message.
(Jesus, suddenly I feel like I'm trapped in the White House.)
There's also the fact that I have genuinely come to terms with the fact that my father is not an adequate father. That he is not capable of being an adequate father. I'm not happy about it, certainly, but it has been this way for so long that to admit it is a relief. Yes, I did some things wrongly in this relationship, yes, I wish I could undo or redo some of my actions, but it is not my fault. I am not to blame for his inadequacies, and I cannot fix them.
On many levels, yes, this hurts, and I wish it were different -- but it isn't. I don't know that I'm willing to reach out toward him, no matter how slightly, when I know bone and blood and breath deep that he will fail as a father, as a human being, at the first chance not to. He hasn't changed as a person since the night I got my nerve up to walk out; his behavior toward me over the last five years shows this, what I've been able to glean from my sister shows this, what my mother has told me shows this. He hasn't changed and he isn't going to change and this is not my problem and I am not going to make it my problem.
I don't see that I need to go out and say, "Go on, don't punch me. I dare you." I don't see that I have that obligation. I've done that. I walked out of his apartment when I was fifteen. The journal entries about how little I trust him, how little I like him, how much I hate visiting him, date back to when I was twelve. I stuck it out in that relationship for years, dreading every iteration of it, and having that dread confirmed at every opportunity.
We talking about how it's impressive that I've moved beyond the knee-jerk reaction of "no", no matter how slightly, and I pointed out that I started therapy with the intention of getting to a place in my head where I could know why what I did with pater and be comfortable with it and be okay with whatever I did with the relationship in the future. Not letting that happen would be stupid.
So here I am. I don't think I'm going to let him come in. I don't think I'm going to call his bluff. I don't think the satisfaction of doing it is worth -- whatever. He's not worth my time or my attention or my -- okay, let me put it this way. I have open, right now, six Firefox tabs. One of them is my flist; one them is my RL email; one of them is my fandom email, set to 'compose', sending someone I've long admired from a distance a long letter that can be summed up as, "I think you're really nifty, want to be friends?"; one of them has supporting evidence for "I think you're really nifty" -- for which, read, the person's LJ so I can quote liberally from her most-recent fics; one of them is an article I'm going to send to Dorian as soon as I post this; one of them is my RSS feed, which is how I keep up with a bunch of friends via their blogs. Every single one of those tabs has to do with relationships I am willing to devote time and energy to, relationships with some sort of reward for that time and energy, even relationships I am taking the initiative with.
I'm not a lonely person. I'm not alone. I have relationships. I have good relationships. He isn't one of them. I've got so much that that's good in my life these days. Why would I willingly let in what I know is poison?
I want to call his bluff, yes, and I know that it is utterly impossible to comprehend how well and truly fucked-up my father is without meeting him, and more information can't but help Dr. L (right?), but a part of me that i've learned to trust a great deal over the last few years makes the point very loudly that pater will take anything other than no as near capitulation. I don't know that I can afford to change the message.
(Jesus, suddenly I feel like I'm trapped in the White House.)
There's also the fact that I have genuinely come to terms with the fact that my father is not an adequate father. That he is not capable of being an adequate father. I'm not happy about it, certainly, but it has been this way for so long that to admit it is a relief. Yes, I did some things wrongly in this relationship, yes, I wish I could undo or redo some of my actions, but it is not my fault. I am not to blame for his inadequacies, and I cannot fix them.
On many levels, yes, this hurts, and I wish it were different -- but it isn't. I don't know that I'm willing to reach out toward him, no matter how slightly, when I know bone and blood and breath deep that he will fail as a father, as a human being, at the first chance not to. He hasn't changed as a person since the night I got my nerve up to walk out; his behavior toward me over the last five years shows this, what I've been able to glean from my sister shows this, what my mother has told me shows this. He hasn't changed and he isn't going to change and this is not my problem and I am not going to make it my problem.
I don't see that I need to go out and say, "Go on, don't punch me. I dare you." I don't see that I have that obligation. I've done that. I walked out of his apartment when I was fifteen. The journal entries about how little I trust him, how little I like him, how much I hate visiting him, date back to when I was twelve. I stuck it out in that relationship for years, dreading every iteration of it, and having that dread confirmed at every opportunity.
We talking about how it's impressive that I've moved beyond the knee-jerk reaction of "no", no matter how slightly, and I pointed out that I started therapy with the intention of getting to a place in my head where I could know why what I did with pater and be comfortable with it and be okay with whatever I did with the relationship in the future. Not letting that happen would be stupid.
So here I am. I don't think I'm going to let him come in. I don't think I'm going to call his bluff. I don't think the satisfaction of doing it is worth -- whatever. He's not worth my time or my attention or my -- okay, let me put it this way. I have open, right now, six Firefox tabs. One of them is my flist; one them is my RL email; one of them is my fandom email, set to 'compose', sending someone I've long admired from a distance a long letter that can be summed up as, "I think you're really nifty, want to be friends?"; one of them has supporting evidence for "I think you're really nifty" -- for which, read, the person's LJ so I can quote liberally from her most-recent fics; one of them is an article I'm going to send to Dorian as soon as I post this; one of them is my RSS feed, which is how I keep up with a bunch of friends via their blogs. Every single one of those tabs has to do with relationships I am willing to devote time and energy to, relationships with some sort of reward for that time and energy, even relationships I am taking the initiative with.
I'm not a lonely person. I'm not alone. I have relationships. I have good relationships. He isn't one of them. I've got so much that that's good in my life these days. Why would I willingly let in what I know is poison?
Reposted from LJ, 20 March 2009
