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And I'm still not sure how to handle this...
You say we should sit down and talk things through, and that if I want to punch you right between the eyes, you'll take the hit. I kind of want to take you up on that offer - I do hate having grudges, and clearing the air would be nice. But somehow, I don't think you'll want to hear what I have to say. Somehow, I don't think this conversation will be any less one-sided than all the others you've lead me through. So I'm practicing here what I'll say, and if you listen when I find the courage to speak these words aloud, maybe we can move on. I'm really hoping that'll be the outcome.
I think it's great that you're a new person now. Hell, the old you couldn't have lived this long, I don't think. But it's important for you to recognize that I'm not a new person - I like who I was in my childhood, and I like who I am now, but this person carries the same feelings she has for years. When I try to think back to when you lived with me and mom, I see the faint glow of the hall light through that pink flowered fleece blanket. I hear your voice roaring drunkenly, and my toys hitting the walls. I smell alcohol and piss. And I feel fear. If you can pick up my favorite toy and smash it without batting an eye, how am I to know that you wouldn't do something equivalent to me?
But you're sober now. These things won't happen. Great, but when you get annoyed, and that's not infrequently, I hear the twang of anger, and I cower internally. I'm waiting for the thrown objects to miss my feet by inches, fingers flexing in preparation to dial a friend's phone number and beg, sobbing, for a ride somewhere, anywhere, that's not in your house. You're a different person, but I'm still the 10 year old standing with her mom and her 2 year old brother, waiting for her dad to pick us up from the airport. But he didn't - he was out with his barely legal girlfriend. I'm still the confused child petting the dog of the floozy who you met when she was a stripper, while you were still married. I'm still the crying child in the backseat of Les's truck, bawling while he tried to speak soothing words and mom was inside the station, negotiating your bail. The last time you threw something at me was about 5 years ago - That makes 17 years up until then, and 5 years since. That's not enough time to undo the hurt, not near enough, and I'm only just now beginning to make progress. It's hard, dad, to know if you really are different this time. It's really really hard, and I don't know how long it will take me to accept you again, if I ever do, so if you're really a new guy, show me this by being patient.
And would you believe that's not all? I want to make it absolutely clear to you that I will never, ever stay at your house again, and that has very little to do with you and everything to do with your wife. She's never respected me, ever - she doesn't even believe I have reasons to behave towards you as I do. Believe me, my real friends think I'm too forgiving and want to shield me from the pain I experience just thinking about our history. And yet she won't consider for even one moment that I might have valid reasons for the way I feel. Unlike her, I'm not a bitch to people just for the heck of it. When I get married, you will be welcome to come, but she is not. I've even been told that she speaks ill of me in front of my own brother. Not a very classy move, nor respectful of either me or him. Plus, she's made him cry on multiple occasions, and I refuse to let my baby brother be bullied by some moronic harpy. I'd sit her down and tell her all this myself, make sure she knows the past from both sides, but I doubt she'd listen to a word from my lying mouth, and I'd probably just end up socking her. If you want to visit me, by all means do, and if I could stay in a hotel and be promised that I'd never so much as catch a glimpse of her, I'd visit you, but I refuse to let her be even a footnote in my life.
So you said we should sit down and drink a glass of wine, talk this all through. I don't really want to sock you, since violence isn't my style. I try my very best not to hurt anyone in any way, as I know how the other side of things like that feel, and it's damaged me. But I'll take you up on that glass of wine. Here's to me regaining my courage, and hopefully actually saying this to you.
Cheers.
I think it's great that you're a new person now. Hell, the old you couldn't have lived this long, I don't think. But it's important for you to recognize that I'm not a new person - I like who I was in my childhood, and I like who I am now, but this person carries the same feelings she has for years. When I try to think back to when you lived with me and mom, I see the faint glow of the hall light through that pink flowered fleece blanket. I hear your voice roaring drunkenly, and my toys hitting the walls. I smell alcohol and piss. And I feel fear. If you can pick up my favorite toy and smash it without batting an eye, how am I to know that you wouldn't do something equivalent to me?
But you're sober now. These things won't happen. Great, but when you get annoyed, and that's not infrequently, I hear the twang of anger, and I cower internally. I'm waiting for the thrown objects to miss my feet by inches, fingers flexing in preparation to dial a friend's phone number and beg, sobbing, for a ride somewhere, anywhere, that's not in your house. You're a different person, but I'm still the 10 year old standing with her mom and her 2 year old brother, waiting for her dad to pick us up from the airport. But he didn't - he was out with his barely legal girlfriend. I'm still the confused child petting the dog of the floozy who you met when she was a stripper, while you were still married. I'm still the crying child in the backseat of Les's truck, bawling while he tried to speak soothing words and mom was inside the station, negotiating your bail. The last time you threw something at me was about 5 years ago - That makes 17 years up until then, and 5 years since. That's not enough time to undo the hurt, not near enough, and I'm only just now beginning to make progress. It's hard, dad, to know if you really are different this time. It's really really hard, and I don't know how long it will take me to accept you again, if I ever do, so if you're really a new guy, show me this by being patient.
And would you believe that's not all? I want to make it absolutely clear to you that I will never, ever stay at your house again, and that has very little to do with you and everything to do with your wife. She's never respected me, ever - she doesn't even believe I have reasons to behave towards you as I do. Believe me, my real friends think I'm too forgiving and want to shield me from the pain I experience just thinking about our history. And yet she won't consider for even one moment that I might have valid reasons for the way I feel. Unlike her, I'm not a bitch to people just for the heck of it. When I get married, you will be welcome to come, but she is not. I've even been told that she speaks ill of me in front of my own brother. Not a very classy move, nor respectful of either me or him. Plus, she's made him cry on multiple occasions, and I refuse to let my baby brother be bullied by some moronic harpy. I'd sit her down and tell her all this myself, make sure she knows the past from both sides, but I doubt she'd listen to a word from my lying mouth, and I'd probably just end up socking her. If you want to visit me, by all means do, and if I could stay in a hotel and be promised that I'd never so much as catch a glimpse of her, I'd visit you, but I refuse to let her be even a footnote in my life.
So you said we should sit down and drink a glass of wine, talk this all through. I don't really want to sock you, since violence isn't my style. I try my very best not to hurt anyone in any way, as I know how the other side of things like that feel, and it's damaged me. But I'll take you up on that glass of wine. Here's to me regaining my courage, and hopefully actually saying this to you.
Cheers.