Whiskey Bottles and Half-Pint Militants

I used to take my father's whiskey bottles and throw them in the trash. I remember conspiring with my younger brother one night. We went out to my father's car and we found a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag underneath the passenger's seat--Well actually, my brother found the liquor. He showed it to me, and I decided what we'd do with it. 
You see, when I was younger, my father drank a lot--I mean, he drank an awful lot. At times, he would slip up and drink more than he could handle. So, I used to get all "covertly militant," and I would find out where he would hide his drinks, and I'd trash them... 
I wonder if he ever knew what we did... He couldn't have known, I think... He would've beaten us if he had.
Eventually, he stopped drinking so much--thank goodness. And soon, he stopped drinking altogether. I even want to say that drinking made him more docile... but somewhere, I know that's not entirely true...
That night before heading inside, after my brother gave me the coveted bottle and I threw it in the garbage, he looked up at me with worry in his eyes. And he said, "What are we gonna do when he finds out?"
"He won't find out," I said.
"He's gonna know something--" my brother nervously insisted. "What if he starts pointing fingers?"
"Then tell him I did it," I said. "Blame me."

Letting go...

     All my life, I've been running away from the possibility that I may have "daddy issues." I can't run anymore. And, I'm tired of staring truth in the face and not confronting it.

     I've never wanted anything more than happiness and to fall in love--I mean, to truly fall head-over-heels for someone. But, I can't help but admit that my past hinders me from taking hold of what I truly want. I've only recently been forced to see it, and I've been silently coming to terms with it.

     The truth is, I keep tripping up, running away from the idea that I'm subconsciously seeking the things that I had never gotten a from my father. And the truth is, I've always been afraid of investing in a relationship--the fear of finding someone with my father's shortcomings have always kept me grounded and unwilling to try.

     My father wasn't home often. And when he was, he was either mentally absent, unwilling to interact with us, or around drinking with his "friends."

     He never paid me much attention until I had done something wrong. So, I find it hard to remember good things about him. But when I do remember the good things, it hurts... because I don't understand which of the two is him. Seriously, the two personalities are so tremendously incongruous that I go into a mental stupor. How on Earth could he be both?

     As a child, I often sought my father's approval. And once I felt that I had it--once I felt like maybe he does love me or that maybe he actually is proud of me, he does a full turn around and disappoints me all over again. 

     Then, I go back to feeling as though he doesn't actually care what happens to me; he doesn't love me at all... and maybe he never really has. So, what do I do? I regress. I shut down. And, everyone around me suffers for it.

     Sadly in my relationships, I see myself seeking things I had never gotten. I seek affection. I seek a displaying of love. I seek care and approval. But, doesn't everyone? The difference is that once I've confirmed that I've found these things, I latch on for dear life--which is probably not the best thing to do. And once it feels like I'm being ignored or let down, I still latch on like a fool... But, I shut down again. And, I attack myself for ever being so foolish to attach to someone. Because surely, let's be realistic... no one could ever love me, right? 

     As silly as these things sound to me, I know it's the truth. I'm so afraid to open up to people. And, I really want to open up. I want to take chances at a relationship. I want to be in love. But, my past just makes it so difficult for me. 

     People look at my parents and think that since they're still married, they must be living the dream. But they don't know the smallest thing about my parents' relationship.

     I come from a broken home--pieced together with bubblegum, scotch tape, and string. My father was abusive, and he used to drink--which may explain my vehement disdain for liquor. I've never even touched a drink for fear of becoming my father. That may not be the nicest thing to say, but it's true.

     I've been bottling up many things. And, this isn't even a dent in the capsule.

    Nonetheless, I've been taking chances lately, which is saying something... because I'm so introverted. So, hopefully something good comes out of it. And if I get hurt or disappointed in the process, I hope I have enough pep in me to get right back up, chalk-it-up to experience, and try again.

Letting it all go...
-Jen