Neglectful

At the present moment, I feel like that one time when my mom and I didn't know where my dad went for hours on end in the middle of the night years ago. He was never good at lying and from an early age I knew well enough what an alcoholic was. But my dad wasn't the best at seeing through his goals and more times than not he would relapse. Great...here we go again, I'd think to myself. But my mom was the more rational one out of the two of us. In laymen's terms, she knew he was a fuck up and 'change' wasn't in his vocabulary.

But that one night, when I was a sophomore in college home for winter break, he said he had to go out and that he'd, "be right back." Bullshit. He left around 9pm Friday evening and came back around 3pm the next day. At this point, we knew where he was and what he was doing, that was no surprise. The scary part was his phone was turned off all night. After numerous calls from my mother and I, we really had no idea how to get a hold of someone who said he'd, "be right back."*

*And I think that's why I'm so cynical these days - someone can easily say one thing and do the complete opposite. No one is ever entitled to stay when you want them to. There is no "be right back." It means absolutely nothing to me.

Part of me knew he would eventually show up but I still couldn't help but think, "what if". After endless attempts of reaching his voice mail, I finally heard a ringer on the other end of the line I was calling. He picked up and was "greeted" by the angriest nineteen year-old God has graced on this earth. I screamed, I shouted, I didn't let him get a single word in. I was crying frantically and forgot to breathe. My mom heard the cacophony from my room and ran upstairs, "Is he there?!".

"I-I know. I know. I-I'm coming home right now," he said like a teenager who broke curfew. He hung up on me while I was in the middle of my "breakdown." I mean, who wouldn't, right?

That feeling of relief and anger came over me, I didn't really know what to do with myself. I wanted to punch a wall but that would be too expensive to fix. So I cried for a good minute or two before my mother and I gathered ourselves and sat on the couch downstairs like two angry parents waiting for their irresponsible slut of a daughter to come home after prom. Yeah, at this point I'd consider myself the parent and my dad the slutty prom queen. He probably got so shitfaced he forgot to bring his crown home. Tear, tear.

We heard the front door open and he slowly walked up the stairs. His hair, let me know tell you, was a style I've never seen him sport before. It wasn't even stylish! It was disheveled. Justin Bieber wasn't that popular back then but I don't think even he would rock that do. I could tell he was afraid to approach us. He knew he had some 'esplainin to do, ese.' I don't think I've ever seen my dad that embarrassed before. He sat down on the couch far away from my mom and looked down the entire time.

I wasted no time before I ripped him a new one. Nineteen years of pent up anger and frustration came out of my mouth that afternoon. Good thing there was an overcast outside because I think being angry on a sunny day is unproductive. Thinking back to what I said, I can't really remember anything except that I told him that everything I do from now on is only for my mother because she busted her ass for the both of us. I also remember telling him that he's lost 100% of my trust and gaining it back will be a hundred times harder. He nodded in agreement and took in everything I said. He didn't have anything to say back to me. He didn't even turn red with anger after I yelled at him (which I knew my mom was probably nervous about because both her and I knew the shit that came out of my mouth could have set him off like a bull in a china shop). That was the first and only time since then that I've ever yelled at my dad like a parent.

The moral of the story is this - it's been a long while since I've written here. I originally created this blog almost two years ago to channel my final year of college and the ups and downs and trials and triumphs of being a senior. After college, it became more of a #postgradproblems type of blog, channeling my life after college and all of the fucked up bullshit (and good times as well) my life consisted of. And now I feel like how my dad did when he came home that one afternoon. As if my blog is standing there with its arms crossed asking me, "Where the fuh have you been?!"

I've been neglectful.

I've neglected this journal for a long time. It used to be my solace, something I'd turn to when I had no idea who to talk to, or when I didn't want to burden anyone with how I was feeling. And I think when you're so consumed by something or someone else you begin to forget who you are and what you used to do or be. I think the last time I wrote was the beginning of March. I was happy, excited, and optimistic but also sad, frustrated, and really confused. I guess I still am but I guess after writing for the first time in a long time, I'm hoping that all of these emotions will finally unravel into a healthier outlet like this blog. I'm happy to be back. But I've got lots and lots of esplainin' to do, ese.