…I talked to my dad on the phone today.
and I managed to tell him about my… well whatever it is. He’s been talking to me about the military lately only because he’s worried about my loans and he really thinks it’s a great thing for the right people. (His whole life changed for the better after he joined the Air Force) I told him I wouldn’t be completely expelled from the idea, but I was concerned for myself. He thought I meant the fitness aspects or the discipline involved, but I was forced to explain what I’ve been afraid to tell him for half my life.
Dad: Well, gee everybody gets depressed every once in a while. That’s okay, hun, that’s normal. You can’t always avoid that, that’s life.
Me: Yeah.. well, um. But.. I, I’m sorry. Um… [Choking up] I, I don’t want to scare you, but, I mean… I, I’ve never done anything, I don’t abuse drugs, and I don’t drink, I would never do anything like Katie or Chris, but like sometimes, like… it, it gets kind of bad. It’s not like I’d ever do anything, I mean, I’ve been dealing with this since middle school and spurts of elementary school so yeah like I, I’ve never tried anything. But I guess some would call it, you know, like suicidal thoughts. I’ve never cut or anything like that before-
Dad: Aw no, hun you shouldn’t feel like that.
Me: But I’d never do anything, it’s just, you know, like I get stressed and depressed and then I think about the family and like how things went when we grew up and other bad things and like… I just make it worse. And like, you know it’s not random or anything, it’s just late at night when I’m alone and if somethings bothering me it’ll start up and you know, it’ll last a few hours… and then in the morning everything will be fine. It’s not like it’s for days like Mom, I’m pretty sure I’m not bipolar or manic depressive. It’s just those moments when I let it happen… I don’t, don’t like feeling vulnerable and, I don’t know, It’s just scary. I feel like it’s effecting my school…
Dad: Well you know that I love you. I love you hun, you shouldn’t feel like that. I don’t know why you would, you’re a great person. You’re doing so good-
Me: Yeah, yeah, I know- I know that. [Almost crying] I’ve just been scared to, to tell you cause like you know, that just sounds bad. And you’re so busy and everything and you know mom and the rest of them have all this stuff happening, I just thought it was just another thing, you know? And I didn’t want to scare you, it’s not all the time, just like sometimes and-
Dad: No no, you can tell me. Don’t feel like that. I want to know. Well gee, I didn’t know any of this was happening, I thought things were going great for you. I guess I should call you more often, I didn’t realize… […]
I’m really glad I finally told him, but I was concerned that when he was telling me he loved me, I just didn’t feel it. I hated that I made him worry and I felt so weird like he didn’t know who I was and I didn’t believe him when he told me he cared about me. Almost like a ‘aw that’s cute you’re trying, dad, but I know I’m worthless and that nobody really wants to know me.’ Shouldn’t there be that realization like, ‘Wow, my dad really does care! Everything feels so great!’? I knew he was concerned and cared about what I was saying, but I… It just didn’t feel natural to accept an acknowledgement like that. I felt… alien and undeserving.
How can child neglect be so permanant that the awful, lonely, torturous question of worth never leaves? Do I have to live with this for the rest of my life? Will it ever get better? Will this eventually kill me?
Can God… fix me?