The little blue light

By jessilee · Feb 11, 2014 · ·
  1. jessilee
    Sorry, but this one may be a bit long...

    My biological dad has been calling me the last cpl days... I never answer his calls. I used to always answer due to the fact that my 61 year old father lives with my 96 year old grandpa. And I worried that something happened to Grandpa, so I would answer. Only to be either greeted with his drunk slurring "fuck you" or his pity party.... crying how he needed money from me, or needed me to write a letter to his latest judge for a State of adjudification, promise to do nothing wrong, only to end up in front of the same judge a month later for either the same charge, or something involving alcohol... Writing letters for inpatient programs, treatment centers, workhouses, or this latest one to insurance company for a free gym membership... which isnt that bad even... but the way things go with him, I just feel like if there was some way he could hawk it for money or something, he will do it.
    So as I sit here, this blue little light, a notification on my phone, blinks... I avoid it. If I stare at it too long it seems like it starts to speed up and match my heartrate. Causing me a bit of panic. Anxiety creeping up. What will this latest message be?? Slurring? Swearing? Sadness? A guilt trip? I hate this light. Knowing I have to take care of it, or it will never turn off. Its a constant reminder that I have to deal with him as well....

    The back story is too long to ever type out... I will go to the time right before my use of drugs started... I had went to my Brothers house with my children one weekend. And on the way home I decided to stop and see my Grandpa. I pulled up to the house and got a pit feeling in my stomach. My kids being 11 and 13 about this time, I told them to wait in the car. They have seen my dad, only a few times...they are scared of him. (rightfully so) And they havent really been around drunks.. I tapped on the door, and walked in. The front door leads straight to the kitchen. The kitchen table directly to your left. I turned my head to hear him say... OOhhhh Jessi, what the hell you doing here? I turn to look at him. Hes sitting at the kitchen table. A big pile of pistachios in one stack and a big stack of shells directly beside it. He had to be shelling them for hours with how many there were and the amount of fumbling going on to shell a single pistachio. A litter of the cheapest vodka sat next to him. He was shirtless, shorts half zipped and his skin looked saggy. His swastika tattoo on his chest was sagged (IM NOT PROUD HE HAS THAT TATTOO) his roaring tiger looked not so big and his eyes looked vacant. Oddly his skin was a more yellow than olive.. He got up. I backed up. I said I just had come to see grandpa, but my uncle had taken him to the cabin for the weekend. I told him I was just leaving. I had to hurry up and get kids home. He became angry I was leaving. Than somewhere he calmed back down and insisted I take home some food he had in the freezer. I did just to keep peace. As he is flinging whatever he finds in a cooler, and me saying NO I dont like that he got angry and slapped me for not taking the food. I was 32. I dropped the cooler full of frozen goods on his feet and ran out of the house and sped off. ... He was in the hospital a week later in a coma. They didnt think he would make it. I was the POA and did all the paperwork. And unbelievably..he came out of it. With 3 times a day of dialisis, and a week in the ICU, and a full month in the hospital. He was good. I put him directly into inpatient for a month at the same hospital. Than when that month was up, I put him into the VA hospital for inpatient. Another month. Giving him money, calling him. Keeping him occupied with movies. He got out of there 3 months after almost being dead, told his organs are shot. What does he do?? 2 days later he is missing for a whole day. I am pissed. I drive up there to find him finally stumble in with a black eye, mouth swollen and bloody, a cut on his head. Stinking of booze. I called the police and had him picked up on his warrant. He sat in Jail. I would be glad to post his mugshot.... but i decided not to...

    So he is still drinking. Still alive, still going in and out of jail. And still always needing my help. But treating me like hell... My brother hasnt spoken to him in years.. But I always give in. Always feel like that child awaiting approval. Is this good enough now?? Ughhh disgusting. I feel sick and terrible to admit it, but I wish he would have passed away in that hospital bed. Hes hurt so many people, gotten away with so many crimes, ruined 3 childrens lives. But I probably shouldnt think like that....

    When I look at my dad, I see myself sadly. His eyes. They are my eyes. Everyone tells my brother and I we are a spitten image of him. It causes my brother great distress.. When I look at him. I see evil, calculating eyes. Eyes that can size you up, if your a potential victim to his wants, what he can get out of you. Squinting with a sharp gaze of hate, and utter disgust for life. I dont ever want to see that in my own face. I dont see it when I look in the mirror. But at times of anger or disappointment, my kids will cower. They say I look like him. They are scared of me. It makes me sad, and disgusted.

    I have to decide if I will write his stupid letter of recommendation.

    I suppose I better take care of this stupid blue light. Or I will go mad....

    *** NOTE ****

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  1. ZenobiaSky
    It sounded so much like you were writing about my father, only he passed away when I was 30. I did have the chance to forgive him, and accept him for the person he was... yada yada yada... But I spent so many years hating him, hiding from him, ignoring his drunken guilt ridden phone calls. My dad was an alcoholic, addicted to pain pills, among other things, you know that typical addictive personality. And (other than the drinking) I am my father's daughter, and I hate that about myself. It truly amazes me how much you and I are alike.
  2. desert flower are not your father.
    Ask yourself if he would do for you what you do for him.
  3. jessilee
    He wouldn't desert. .. ive begged for help at times. I broke my leg 3 years ago.. I was out of work. I needed money pay my rent. I asked him just for $100 of it. I hadn't asked for anything over the years. He said.... maybe he could help me.... if I gave him my pain killers. I hate pain killers. But I couldnt believe he would ask for them. I just had had 2 plates and 13 screws put in my ankel. I said ok... he could come and get them.. im about 73 miles from him. He said he could get to my house... I had to mail them. I couldnt believe it but I did it. Risked a federal crime for a $100. 3 days later I got an envelope with $70. He couldnt even help me with that and still took my meds.

    I gave him his letter. But I cut off all ties now. I will never be him. Thank you for reminding me desert. ♡
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