Longing for Endings

by rheeb

There is this well deep within me that I am usually oblivious to.  Every once in a while, I will come upon it, and I’m amazed at how deep it goes.  I sometimes, climb inside of it and slowly go down it’s rounded walls, even though, as I get closer to the bottom, I know that I will be faced with the prospect of drowning.

It was April 2007.– a Sunday.  Cod, Sucka, and I were coming home from church, and I was very upset because Nark had been ignoring me for days.  I don’t remember why he was ignoring me, but it had gotten to a point where I couldn’t handle it anymore.  So I made the declaration on that five minute ride home that I was going to confront Nark when we got home.  It was Cod’s birthday, so she begged me not to do it.  I just couldn’t live in such a oxygen-deprived environment for a second longer.  So, I went into the house as Cod and Sucka stayed outside in the car.  I walked up the steps to their room to find Nark, sitting straight faced, as though I’d killed his cat.  I said, “Why aren’t you talking to me?”  And in true narcissist fashion, he denied ignoring me–loudly.  I then gave him my cellphone and said, “Here, take it!”  He paid the bill for it (which makes me have a slight memory that he was ignoring me because he said I was going over minutes, which couldn’t have been true, because I barely had friends–plus I’m an introvert.  He averaged 50,000 alone, and I guess he didn’t want to take responsibility).  It was then that he got up, yelling at me and telling me that he wouldn’t pay for my school any longer.  I didn’t care.  Then Sucka came into the house, and all three of us were on the steps screaming at each other.  I said, “I already know what you think of me…’you’re nothing but a fat bitch, remember?!'” referencing what he said to me years before.  He kept coming after me on the steps, and Sucka stood between us.  Then, Sucka and I began to push him, because due to history, we knew how incredibly violent he could get.

[Taking a moment as I type this, because it’s bringing up a shitload of shit that again, was at the bottom of that deep well]

This whole scene went on for about ten minutes.  There was a point when he began screaming that I never showed him that I loved him–that I never wrapped my arms around him and…basically, treated him like a child.  It makes me sick just thinking about this fucking bullshit.  Then, for the next hour, he talked and talked and talked, gaslighting and making me the worst person ever.  I was nineteen.  He was 59.  He rambled and rambled, and the whole time, Cod stayed in her car–letting me stay in the lions den, alone, like an ostrich mother.  And he left that seemingly never-ending…I can’t even say conversation, because he was making pointless points and being a sick fucker.  He left happy, I’m sure.  I left feeling like my soul had been destroyed beyond repair.

I want it to end.  I want him out of my life.  I want him to go back to the abyss he came from.  I want him annihilated from existence–including mentally.  I want him out of my life with such intensity that I’m sure I would sigh with relief upon his eventual death.  I may even smile.  I think the sun would give me a high five and suddenly Chipotle would have discounts available to curb their tremendous prices.  All pets would be able to speak the native tongue of their owners, and junk food would no longer contain calories.  I’m telling you, my world, my LIFE would be like a ribbon in the sky.  I would go sky-diving, rock climbing…I would become an astronaut and explore outer-space, not even needing an oxygen mask because I would be living off of sheer thrill.  Fruit would taste sweeter, and I would suddenly have abundant wealth.  Yes, THAT is that joyous feeling when the saga of Nark is over.  Lord Jesus, it’s a fire!  It would be an incredibly freeing time.

Thing is, I hate sounding this way.  I am a kind person.  I just hate my narcissistic father with a passion, and it almost feels like I’m counting down the days until he’s gone (be that through a divorce or death).  It’s so fucking hard having a non-human parent.  I mean, scum of the earth–demonic.  DEMONIC!  And I’m not one to say stuff like that because it reminds me of that crazy fundamentalist upbringing, but narcissists are demonic persons.  Why torture us like this, Lord?  Why have us deal with such seemingly never-ending pain and sorrow?

Song of the Day: None for this post.  Pain is nothing but a white noise, floating in the air that is filled it dark space.