Don't wanna go back
So, I went to a place in my mind this weekend that I do not ever want to go back to. Hell I didn't ever want to go back to that place. As I'm sure you are aware, gentle readers, that I have issues with my past. My parents both disagree on things that happened to me in the past. Not just the major stuff, but the stillsucksbutnotasbadasmolestation issues as well. I have tried desperately to allow them to agree to disagree, and go from my own memories, and go with the knowledge that neither parent is perfect, and nor am I.
However, this weekend, I went back to a place that I shouldn't have had to go to. Whether it was intentional or not. I went back to that little girl who used to get up at the crack of dawn, dress in her prettiest, although not church, clothes and get a ding dong and sit on the front porch. And wait. And wait. And wait. And mom would bring me out a sandwich for lunch, and beg me to go play with the neighborhood children, and I would wait. And watch the road. And sit there until I fell asleep that night because mom couldn't convince me to come inside, even with the threat of being grounded - all because my daddy promised me that he would be there. He said he would come, and so I would sit. And silently cry. And it would break my little spirit. I know now, that there were other factors involved. I have plenty of she said, he said to form a picture of things.
However, there were no other factors involved this weekend. And it wasn't ME who was sitting on the front porch. It was MY baby. It was my son, who had done nothing wrong. It was my precious little boy who only wanted to spend time with his grandpa, and go to the indoor fun fair and play. He didn't have anything to do with the past. And he was broken hearted. And for that, I was broken hearted, and I went back to that very bad place. And I don't know yet how I am going to handle it. I wanted to scream and cuss and yell, and tell this man that he can't DO that to my son. That he can't fucking do that to me. And if I do, he is gone. He is out of my life. I know this. He will walk a fucking way from me once again, and it may be years before we talk again. I don't know if I am ready for that heart break. But if I say nothing, then that little girl I was screams at me that I am worthless, that her own fucking father doesn't care enough about her to make a fucking phone call. If I say nothing, then I say that the behavior is acceptable, and it's ok that he broke my son's heart. And it is NOT fucking ok. It is not ok at all.
and it is not ok that he put me in a position where I would go back there to that place again. I am not seven years old. I am a grown woman. And it is not ok.