No parent should have to feel caught between the competing influences of spouse and child.
No child should have to look his father in the eye and say he won't see him again.
They say hindsight is 20/20; mine is all too perfect.
Snubbed requests, ignored feelings, a dinner argument gone horribly wrong... and then I found myself alone, bewildered, saddened, and lost.
I never thought it would ever come to that, I always thought differences could be addressed, conflicts resolved.
Last night, I found otherwise--and panicked. And, in my panic, I told my own father, one of the two people I love most in this world, that there would be no need for him to drive me to school again.
The mental berating was instantaneous. The instant those words left my mouth, my mind went hyperactive, mercilessly lashing itself with silent cries of "No!", "What kind of monster are you?", and a torrent of curses I shudder to remember. Numbed, all I could do was barricade myself in my room and sink wretchedly to the floor. I was a nervous wreck; my breath caught, my teeth clenched, my hands formed fists, and angry tears streamed down my cheeks. I was literally torturing myself inside. The dam doesn't break like that often, but when it does I fear to think of suicide. I kept asking myself "Why?" Why did I say such a thing? How could I?
And in my misery I fell to my knees, clasped my hands, and prayed.
Now, first, understand that I'm an agnostic, a member of my local Unitarian Universalist Society, and I have little personal use for prayer. A long time ago, back when I was still confused at to what I believed spiritually, I sat at my bed and prayed--to everything. I directed my plea for guidance to any and every deity I could think of, from the God of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, to the Greek tenants of Mt. Olympus. I was met with silence, which convinced me to discover the truth about "it all" for myself, without anyone imposing an arbitrary creed on me.
But, last night, I fervently prayed to whatever higher power may be up there, asking not for a miracle but just a little help. Help to control my temper. Help to control that of my stepmother. Help for my father to find stable ground for the family.
Again, no answer. But I hope I was heard. Because I didn't mean what I said to my father. No matter how far things have deteriorated since he was married, I still love him and would never be parted from him. And, as bleak as things look now, there's still hope. There always is. My stepmother's posturing has made me the antagonist of the family, the instigator of all our problems. With a little help, I figure I can meet that challenge and push reconciliation. Just a little help.
