Selective Amnesia

What I wish I could forget was the hurt in her face when I exploded over nothing.

I wish I could forget the hatred in his voice every time he talked to me.

I wish I could forget the emptiness I felt after leaving his presence after he’d bash me for hours.

I wish I could forget the countless tears that she shed because of thoughtless words he spoke.

I wish I could forget the dagger sentence someone said to me once that completely rewired how I felt about myself, leading me down a dark path of insecurity.

What I wish I could forget was the condescending looks I always received when I walked into their home.

I wish I could forget that promises were made, words were spoken, but the opposite is always executed.

What I wish I could forget was his smile, the way his very presence saturated me. I blindly transformed into a pliable person that fell for his trap, whereby leaving me to deal with his mishandling of my heart on every level.

I wish I could forget the numerous times I felt unworthy enough for anything but the momentary use of someone, my self respect was a lost jewel.

I wish to forget the way my poisonous mind works in defeating me before I ever can get started achieving dreams that I have always had for myself.

I wish I could forget the ignorant words that was said to me attacking the only thing that I had in my life. I felt as if I have nothing to offer, so my existence leaves nothing that counts for anyone.

What I wish I could forget was the times that I found evidence that I really wasn’t enough for someone. There’s always someone better.

I wish I could forget how a temporary fix seems more right than working things out with me.

I wish to forget the scrutiny that I have endured and continue to bare because I try and defend myself and the position of others.

I wish I could forget my days of being a referee.

I wish I could forget was making a choice to lower my standards because I didn’t feel I was worth doing better and that hurting didn’t matter.

I wish I could forget all the ‘If only..’ moments that I have, thinking that they would be the answer for my longings.

I wish that I could forget the looks of their hearts being inverted to their faces, they are mangled, and while others may not see what is really there, I do.

I wish I didn’t live in torment of days gone by and could hold my head up for tomorrow.

I wish that I could forget all the wrongs, but because it feels as though they will always be present, then, I wish for the good memories to overpower and help me to rise from the ashes of my life.

Fruit Salad

The drive to Atlanta was as long as it was nearly unbearable. Traffic backed up for miles, drizzling rain, made for a less than wonderful setting. Looking out the window of the car soaking in the familiar landscape that I have gazed on time and time again, I thought about some of the happy times that I had once had, and I longed for them. Anything but this. After a literal two and half hour drive, finally we began to pull up into the parking lot. Much like a child quickly scanning around a new place, I too was wanting to see every detail to where I was. For it being such a busy town, once you began to drive into the quarters, it's almost as if it magically turned into a calm, serene place and it was miles away from all the hustle and the bustle. As we climbed the hill, the main building was in the center of the fork, which parking was to our right and we slowly crept in finding a spot.

I couldn't decide if I was able to breath or not, no one in the car really said anything much, except for the usual cliche comment everyone makes when arriving, "Well, we're here!" I gathered up my purse, and zipped it, slung it over my shoulder and opened up the back car door. Once I stepped out, I looked across the parking lot, not seeing anyone at the entrance. My mouth started to nearly dry out in anticipation, the clinking of my heel boots nearly drowned out the sound of my heart beating. Nearly there, it was too bad the shiny black pavement wasn't a dark midnight sea and I could swim away in. I wanted to be there, really I did, but things had gotten so complicated, until every situation was uncomfortable these days. What if he didn't want to see me? What if I got too emotional and wasn't internally strong enough to be here?

We stepped on the curb, there he was standing with his Bulldog hat, black rim glasses and holding a umbrella, my Dad. I knew it was him, but I honestly wouldn't have predicted what I saw. His complexion was the best I'd ever seen it. When he smiled, even his teeth looked so much more of a brilliant white. He grinned, hugged my grandmother quickly and then scooped me up and hugged me tight. I could feel him shaking a little, but his hug felt different than times passed, it was surreal. Who wants to see their father like this? No one I know, but I was so mixed up, because hated it so terribly bad, yet, I was so thankful that he was there where he needed to be. I kept thinking as I was standing there in his embrace, "so this is what it feels like? This is what it feels like to get a hug from my Dad, sober." He whispered and told me that he loved me and that he was so glad that I came. I told him that I loved him. My grandfather was next hugging his neck, and eyes were obviously misty. Then my Dad guided us inside the Day hospital where we were able to sign in and he lead us to a secluded room so that we could have visitation time for an hour.

He sat next to me and my grandparents spread out over the remainder of the room. It was a peaceful room with a soft neutral green shade that was dressed with a few large dry erase boards that had words and different things scattered all over from class being conducted. Dad kept reaching over and patting my knee, reminding me that he was so glad that I had came. I wondered if he'd expected me to come or if he thought that I wouldn't. I gave my word, that if he was trying to move forward I will always support him. I couldn't help but nearly be lost in what I thought his thoughts were. Soaking up his presence sober, hardly has words. It's almost like going on a blind date, you don't know really anything much about the person that you will be meeting except for the basics that everyone always covers prior to the meeting. I am a grown woman now, and seeing him clear minded, and alcohol free is something I have never seen a day in my life. When I say this, you probably think that somewhere in there that there had to be a time, but I assure you, there hasn't been. My uncle popped in unexpectedly, and we all chatted for a few more minutes and then we made our way to the family group class. We were waiting out in the lobby, and my Dad called me over to a group of people, and he introduced me to a lady that was in his group, along with her husband that was visiting. He seemed very proud to have me there, and I almost walked a little taller because he didn't introduce any of my other family to her. I certainly didn't think it's because I'm so special, and undoubtedly, the rest of my family probably had already met them, but I guess I just wanted to pretend for a moment that I was more important than anyone else to my Dad, if only for a brief introduction.

We made our way, exchanging subtle smiles, we sat down, and Dad was again at my side. We were asked by this kind, but obnoxiously loud mediator for the meeting, to tell who we were and our relationship to the patient and tell how we were feeling. It made it around the circle of chairs, and my Dad stated his name, and said four words, that I have never heard him say before...."And, I'm an alcoholic."

That had to be so hard to say in front of the family that you had adamantly denied this problem to. The level of difficulty I don't want to know, but I imagined that somehow the sense of freedom to just say it out loud was a blessing as well. The words aren't tangible, but seem as such, because I will hold on to finally hearing him claim his issue rather than blame me and my mother for it. My turn rolled around, and I nervously shared that I was good, but I felt like a fruit salad, so many different feelings at that point, but tha I was thankful to be there with him. It is mixed up. Knowing that he has hurt me so deeply, the things I remember him saying that I can not simply shrug off. Years and years of this irractic behavior really messes with your emotions.

He has lied to me, about me, (with believers) and knowing that my own merit didn't amount to a hill of beans with anyone. Knowing that despite all the sorrow, I have still reached out time and time again, and I was then, again, it's frustrating. On the other hand, I am glad to see a change. I need this change for him, and myself. I need affirmation that I am someone special, that I am worth fighting for and not with. I need to know that I am valued and not disposable, and I need all of that from my Dad. A statement was made later by my uncle about 'getting my brother back...' I was so stuck by those words until I had to focus not on the add in comments of other people but fighting back the tears that had began to flood my eyes. I don't know my Dad, not the real Dad. I have known a angry, bitter, hateful, non-participating father. Not the fun loving one that was so full of life. At that moment I realized, that I was practically sitting next to a stranger. If he can make this journey, and stay sober, and fix somethings, I will be finally getting to know my Dad for the first time, or at least that is what I am hoping for.