The Letter For Dad
Posted on 2002-12-19
I was definately on a bit of a 'high' yesterday after seeing my psychologist. I should have guessed that once the adrenalin rush wore off I would feel awful. I always do this to myself but I'll never learn. I simply wanted to go to a shop, hunt for a gift and then actually pay for it with cash, instead of hitting a few keys and then clicking on submit. The fun is somehow taken away slightly when ordering on-line. I should have learnt by now though that acting out my wishes only makes me feel like I've been dragged through a bush two or three times.
Today a letter arrived addressed to Mr J ____ (I'm not giving away my full name here, although some of you know it anyway, sorry guys 'n' girls). I thought the letter was for me, but after opening it I realised that in actual fact it was for my Dad. His name is John, so he has the same initials as me, and I thought the 'Mr' on the envelope was a typo - an easy mistake to make really. I can't find the right words to describe the feeling I got the second that it actually sunk in - we had got mail for my Dad. The same Dad that cheated on my Mum, the same Dad that used to beat her and slag her off all the time. The same Dad that walked out on me, and that turned me away 6 years ago when I got the courage and attempted to get to know the man that fathered me. It amazes me that after nearly 21 years he is still registered on a database somewhere as living at this address.
The thought crossed my mind that this would be a great excuse to call him (if he hasn't changed his number) or write to him, but the thought dissolved as quickly as it appeared. Why the f**k should I??? He's made it clear that he doesn't give a damn about me, so instead I fed the letter into our paper shredder, never to be read again. As I sit here though I can see the shredder out of the corner of my eye, and every few minutes I turn round to look at it and see the letter hanging from its jagged mouth. I keep thinking about 'my Dad' now and although none of this is his fault I am angry. Angry at him for leaving me and angry at myself for letting him get to me so badly.
Nothing in this world seems simple anymore; everything seems to have a price, and most of the time I can't afford them.