FYP- 14 years

 Writing lately has become a chore, and I hate that. I have to maintain some kind of schedule or it will never get done. But ever since starting the book I've realized there is a lot of emotional damage that has to be factored into timelines. It's easy to write out a schedule and think "oh this day I'll write about ___." 

But then that day comes...and I am exhausted or I can't mentally handle tackling some of the trauma involved. 

-Or- I get more information from the internet/family/random records that takes me days to process...let alone recover from or write about. 

This story sucks.

Let me be honest. 

I spent probably an hour crying on the phone with my mom this time last week because I had this mental realization that we should have been a Netflix documentary. And the ONLY reason we aren't...is because we're still alive and he's not. 

It is hard to keep reliving those realizations.

I'm not sure how long it will take me to realize that this IS my life. I DID experience these things. They WERE that insane. 

I've downplayed it for so long...when I really get into the depths of it...it makes me sick all over again.

So I am going to make a few statements "outloud" here that will 100% make other people uncomfortable. But they are true...and they are things that I have somehow tried to make less "dramatic" even to myself over the years.

-My father was a sexual predator.
-My father had homicidal tendencies and intentions.
-My father would have killed me, my mother, and other people I love dearly given the opportunity...the second he felt he lost control of us. 
-My father intended to kill his girlfriend when he set her house on fire.
-My father was not capable of love, and any time he used that word...it was manipulation.
-My father tortured animals.
-My father encouraged grown men to molest his teenage daughter.
-Nearly every word that ever came out of my father's mouth...was a lie, or a distortion of reality.
-I don't know that I ever once met my father...sober.

14 years ago today I got a call that changed my life.

And in 2 days...it will be 14 years since my father lost his life.

14 years of safety for me and the people I love
14 years of healing
14 years of trying to ignore my own memories
14 years of deciding that hiding the truth is wrong
14 years of wondering how different my life would have been with a dad
14 years of hearing new things I didn't know 

It's crazy how 14 years can make it feel like a century...but yesterday at the same time.

And while the politically correct thing to say this week would be "RIP Dad"...

For the sake of myself...and people I love...

"Fuck you Paul" seems a lot more appropriate.