My reason for deletion - constant change of mind. I'm just a contradiction. I say one thing, then do the opposite. I think one thing one day then change my mind the next. Just because I have one bad day and the next day is different... I change my mind.
Like my dad. This whole week has been 'I have to deal with this'. Today I can't be bothered. I don't want to. What's the point? The point is I need to and I can't move on until I do. I've never dealt with what happened at all. NEVER. That's actually 22 years worth.
I remember the day it happened. It was Sunday. We'd had a bbq at our house the day before and my parents friends had come over. The next day dad was off at dog school being an instructor. Mum was downstairs cleaning up doing the dishes. I found her crying. Dad had been seeing someone else. He wanted to make a go of it with this other woman. It was late January 1989. I was 12 turning 13 in March. My father was everything to me. I put him on a pedestal and wanted to be just like him when I grew up. Dad was a photographer, I love photography. Dad loves cars, I took an interest in cars. Dad loved German Shepherds, I've had two myself. Dad would have ice cream in a cone, so would I. Dad drove fast.... I drive fast. I would rather be on the roof with dad than be domestic and help my mother clean. I was always outside with dad building fires, cooking jacket potatoes, shifting sand, digging holes, being on top of the roof while he cleaned the gutters, listening to his ZZ Top, Deep Purple and Creedence vinyl records. Helping building whatever. I was not a girly girl at all. I was my father's daughter, but never daddy's little girl. I took after him, I have his grandmother's gypsy eyes.
But now. Who was this man now? I didn't want to see him. I didn't know what to say. It was my fault. It I was a better daughter, if I was smarter and a better student, if I wasn't such a brat sometimes... IF IF IF IF IF IF IF. It was my fault. I had a playroom. Being an only child and all. I remember when his car pulled up in the driveway I ran and hid in the playroom and closed the door. He eventually came in and I don't even remember if I said anything. I just stared at the floor in silence. That's all I remember about that day. Maybe I cried when he came in the room.
I didn't tell anybody about it. None of my friends knew. Not a soul. I kept a diary. I still have it somewhere. Nothing is written about that day. Nothing. About four to six months later I have a journal entry that says something like 'My parents are getting a divorce. Shit happens'. That's it.
So it's going to be dealt with when I get back. No more. It's time I took the bull by the horns and looked it straight in the eye and deal with whatever is staring back at me, no matter how hard it is or how much it hurts or how much I don't like what I see.
I don't want to run anymore. And that is such a good thing. It makes me smile.
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