Into the Lion's Den

This has been a helluva week.  It's not over yet.

My boyfriend's grandfather died.  He'll be leaving for Illinois for the funeral on Monday.  I felt bad for him so I did something I never do, which is bow to domestication and make him dinner.  I think I did a great job.  Homemade mac and cheese, (recipe from Alton Brown), burgers I made with beef and a packet of onion soup mix, fresh cornbread, and some cookies, as well as an expensive bottle of POM Wonderful.  I can identify with losing a loved one, but I have a hard time saying the right things, so I try to make up for this inadequacy by buying things for the person, or in this case, cooking and a foot rub.

When we were eating my awesome home cooked meal, I kept thinking of this weekend, my cousin's wedding, and the crazy family I'd have to see.

After lunch I was supposed to head straight to Grinnell so I could work on the set for the high school, but I laid on the couch and went to sleep.  I woke up at 4, panicked, got in the shower, then drove like a bat out of hell to Grinnell.  I feel bad for not painting since I told Mike I would, but I felt kinda depressed about having to see Dad, and I felt depressed for Nathan.  Science knows I escape through sleep.

Tyne and I had a nice rehearsal, although this 2 year old was crawling all over me and I ended up with her on my lap and then had to help her go potty.  I think my hatred of children has diminished a bit since I know I can't have any.
After rehearsal I saw my dad walk in.  I barely recognized him.  He's lost a TON of weight and he seemed like just a wisp compared to the hulking beast I used to be terrified of.
I gave him a hug and said hi, but my older sister was cold to him.  My big and little sisters aren't speaking to him due to an altercation involving booze and my aunt's face getting pulverized.

There were some raised voices at one point, when Tyne said she didn't want to talk about anything during the rehearsal, as this day is supposed to be about my cousin.  Dad got kind of loud and said, "fine, if that's the way you want to be about it, I don't give a shit."  I try to be the buffer for everyone that doesn't get along.  I've done it since I was little.  I want everyone in the family to get along.
Later I went over to his place and actually had a fun time talking with him, my aunt, and my pseudo uncle.  I ended up staying 2 hours, which was bad for my lungs, since they all chain smoke, but good for them I think, since they are sad, lonely, damaged people.
My sister was pissed at me for spending so much time over there, but..... it's complicated.  It's so goddamn complicated.

I remember all the shit he did, I remember the bruise on my mom's face the day we left to move in with my uncle Tom, I remember my burning hatred and my quiet move to get a baseball bat before Mom came down to tell me to pack up.  Dad had fallen asleep on the couch after he punched her and this left him vulnerable to a bludgeoning.  Alas, I was scolded and told to get moving, so his head remained in tact.
 
The time I spent growing up with him turned my fear into hostility.  I was always terrified of his temper when I was little.  As I got older, I got more pissed off, and he didn't seem so big and scary anymore.  Close to the time of the divorce I would pick fights with him.  I wanted to fight him.  I don't know if I wanted him to beat the shit out of me, because his attention would be drawn from my mom and sisters, or if I wanted to beat the shit out of him.  A little of both I think.  It may sound strange, but if you've ever grown up with abuse, you may know what I'm talking about.  After the divorce I just nursed my ire and didn't interact with him for 2 years.  When he'd call I'd simply say, "burn in hell," and hang up the phone.
So these memories haven't gone anywhere.  Some of them I've repressed, but I know, damnit.  I know.

I had this long talk with my mom in the bathroom about why I go over there still, (the best place to have long discussions is ALWAYS the bathroom).  I still go over and see him.  I'm nice to him.  Despite everything, I'm nice to him.
I spent 2 hours there, which was why my sister was pissed.  My mom called a couple of times just to make sure I was alright.  I was fine, but there's not a good history of me or my sisters going over there for whatever reason.  One Thanksgiving a couple years ago my little sister went over and my dad pulled out a gun.  She freaked out and left.  Also there was the time I was picking a fight with my bigoted grandfather, called him a motherfucker, and he tried to punch me.  Strangely enough, my dad was defensive and threw a punch at him to keep him away from me.  I thought I'd get beaten for doing that, later at home, but my dad was more angry with my grandpa for trying to hit one of his kids.

This...... this is where all this complication comes from.  My friends and a lot of my family don't understand why I go over there.  I feel torn.  I feel hate, such intense hate.  But it's marbled with pity and understanding.

Mom and I were discussing the complication of emotion and logic trying to inhabit the same brain, my brain.
When I think of my dad, I first and foremost think of all the bad shit he's ever done to me, and the people I care about.  Then I kind of drift off and think about what he must feel now.  He's lost everything.  His wife, his kids, his job, his friends.  He did it to himself, but it's all gone.  He has nothing but pills now.  I understand the feeling of being high on pain killers.  I went through it when I was taking Tylenol 4 before my surgery.  I'd be having a shitty day at work, I would have horrible cramping pain, so I'd pop a pill and get that wonderful feeling.  You don't feel the pain anymore, but you also get high.  Suddenly the bad day seems not so bad and you kind of feel like you love everyone.  Until it wears off, everything is okay.  When it does wear off, you want another one.  So I understand.  I get it.
What I wasn't completely understanding is why he would need to seek out pain pills so young.  He didn't get addicted after the divorce, he got addicted when he was in his 20's.
So I said this to Mom.  She started talking about the way he grew up.  My grandma tried her best, and my satanic grandpa tried his best.  Although I'm pretty sure he didn't.  My grandpa grew up with a family that essentially ignored him.  Something about a twin in the family was killed, and after that he was left to fend for himself since the others in the family were grief stricken... or something.  Bottom line is, he had no support, no love.  He ends up passing this onto my dad and aunt.  My aunt was spoiled, and my dad was ignored.  He was never encouraged, was often beaten, and on top of it all, had undiagnosed bipolar disorder.  I knew some of this story, but Mom kinda spelled it out a little more for me, and suddenly I could see why pain killers would be such a relief.
Throw a burgeoning family into the mix, a stressful job, and a surmounting mental disorder, and you've got the makings of a terrifying, abusive father.
If I just go back far enough and look at the big picture...... I can't help but feel pity.  Shit happened to me, shit happened to my mom and sisters, but we overcame it.  He was never able to overcome it.  My grandpa couldn't overcome it.  These are mentally ill, lonely people, looking for an escape.  There is a serious vein of weakness in my family, but there's an equally large vein of strength. Some of us have managed to live normal lives.  We are the strong ones.

So I'm sitting with my mom, in the bathroom still, and I just start to cry.  Not really bawling or anything, just crying.  And I say, "I can't place all the blame and all my hate on him, when he's lost everything he loves, and is left with pills.  He did it to himself, but I think he had a little help from the people that raised him.  If I can go over there occasionally, and make his day a bit brighter, maybe there's a tiny bit of hope for him, and for me as I try to heal from his abuse and conquer my emotional eating.  Maybe."

If you talk to my dad now, he has a bit of a crazy look in his eyes.  You can tell something isn't right with him.  It's in the way he interacts with people.  He is the epitome of selfishness.  Talking with him tonight, he just talked nonsense.  He went on about how doctors told him he was a miracle, because during his heart surgery they witnessed an artery healing itself, right there on the operating table.  And that he'd been in the American Journal of Medicine three times since doctors keep writing about how he spontaneously regenerates.  He told me we're related to some woman who had showdowns with Jesse James, and out shot him every time.  He said he was good friends with Jim Belushi.  He told me he's best friends with the owner of the largest funeral home in Iowa when I mentioned my interest in mortuary science. He rambled on about all these famous people he was friends with.  It was the spewings of a man that has repressed all things having to do with reality.  His reality is so painful, so tragic, that he has just chosen not to recognize that that's his situation.  He was talking about a new motorcycle he bought, and how he was making some modifications to it.  He was doing this in a large garage where a lot of guys work on their cars, and he said to me, "I am a GOD to them."
That phrase sort of says it all.  Hell, if my life were hopelessly tragic and lonely, I would probably develop a fantasy world where I am friends with rich and famous people, and they all worship me.  He is insane.  But I think he's insane for a good reason.  I don't think it's much different than people trading in their current realities to play WOW, or even Farmville.  "My real farm is sitting outside, but I like this farm better."  Or that couple from the news that had a newborn baby they neglected until it died.  They neglected it because they were online, raising a simulated baby.

This is why I talk to him.  This is why I am kind to him now.  I can see him as a weak, broken man.  Even if it's self made, I can understand.  I'm the only real, tangible thing he's got left now.  To abandon him would make me a monster, and I can't stomach that.