Call me crazy, like that would be a first, but I had an epiphany watching Netflix.
Hell yeah epiphanies come straight from Netflix, usually after Mad Men or Samantha Who.
I used to hate big loud cinematic dramas with cars exploding and people running for cover, until recently. Suddenly, the man running from his captives, heart pumping adrenaline and face dirty with a hint of dried blood on his upper lip was no stranger.
I find myself nodding in understanding, laughing at the irony, and I admit, am even sometimes that fool yelling at the television to “Watch out!” and “NO, no, no, never trust an ex who needs information from the FBI, IDIOT”
I have been seclusive and paranoid, watching for people in the bushes if you will, always on guard for the next betrayal, and finding it hard to face that my experiences have shaped me into someone who is constantly on the edge, a person surviving, not living.
I have had huge gaping holes in my memory, at night I toss and turn, questions and thoughts burning loose, so strong my desire to be free of the darkness that has engulfed my very being.
One channel tells me to let it go, to wipe a new slate clean, to not be defined by what I was, to go live the life I dream of, to just let the hurt heal and let it be.
The next channel screams impossibility, not without answers, not with this sinking feeling in my gut that nothing is okay, and never will be if I don’t look back to move forward.
This part of me screams into the pillow at night.
I thought I would be most disturbed by my recent estrangement with my mother and yet, it was not her that I thought of, but him.
It has been an impossibility that I would ever be in this position, the scapegoat of a dysfunctional and Narcissistic Family, completely ostracized from a family after setting down a boundary. One boundary began the long fight into this cold war and sometimes I wonder if it was even worth it, unconditionally loved or not, I forgot what I even was fighting for or if it ever even mattered.
I do know without a doubt that the claims I know and God help the ones I don’t know are so preposterous, so beyond my personal understanding for not having a relationship with your own daughter and grandchildren that in this grief I kept wrestling and wondering over and over again.
What if this had been done to him too?
The answers all came back immediately that no, this is an impossibility, but still, I was sick, going over and over scenarios that made no possible sense and yet were the reason behind every bit of my motives for keeping him far, so very far away.
Did he lose his mind, quit therapy as I had understood, taken up a mistress, and had he loved us at all? The questions I have for this man are endless but the answers have never come, only more heartache and disillusionment than ever, a door I closed.
I wasn’t falling for that stupid trap door again.
But still, the part nagged me the most was over his stalking us, a terrifying period of time I did not want to ever revisit. But, did his visits and letters have everything to do with her and nothing to do with me?
She did live with me at the time.
And yet, of course not. She would never lie.
But she had, indeed lied about me, a part of herself, her soul, or so I thought. Wouldn’t he have received even worse treatment or am I just searching to be lost, too afraid to shut the door and start my life with the acceptance I am no one, from no family, and any attempt otherwise will only set me back years in progress?
Until I eerily saw him AGAIN, at the same damn QT, in the week he also ran into Divorcee and other coincidences that felt more like tin garbage cans being smacked against my ears, God telling me to wake the hell up.
This was dicey and secret and I could only imagine the repercussions it could have, and even though Thelma may not have ever spoken to me again, I had to follow my gut.
I had to go meet with my father.
I had unfinished business.
I have been waiting a long time now to write about this, always on pause until the epiphany arrives first, I have decided it is time to put that sleeping dragon to sleep, the one who can’t move on without going back, and it is time to face my fears.
It is time for me to not only write about him but this past six months as well, on how I came to live with my current boyfriend, the new found trials of motherhood and did I mention that yes, I live with a boyfriend?
Strap on the Granny panties, Miss Obvious, no more hiding behind ridiculous Netflix movies and back into your own life.
If only Mad Men had an episode on this. In exception to the time I yelled Pimp or rolled my eyes every time you “fell in love,” Don Draper, I will remove all judgement of you in hopes my readers will be equally kind, and if not, I suppose I could always steal an identity, get filthy rich, marry my secretary and run from my past.
Hmm. Perhaps Don Draper should try Granny Panties himself.
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