March 30, 2004 | 11:21 am
i went to see toni this morning. she smiled as i told her of the past -- my dad's suicide attempt, his control over my sister and brother and i, and how he didn't fight for custody of josh. we talked about my relationship growing up with my mother and how i found solace in my friends. i told her how i acted out, largely because i strived for attention from home and because i was in a destructive state. i told her how after the suicides i felt i should gravitate to the role of caretaker. when andrya died, and then tim, i knew i had failed. i couldn't keep myself happy and i couldn't make someone else feel happy. i was a failure.

we talked for a little over an hour, and i realized how much i didn't remember. this is scary, in a way, because i feel i have done so much work repressing these feelings and i know if i'm going to be happy i need to surface all of them and deal with them in a healthy manner.

i don't remember how old i was when i lived with my father, nor do i know how long i stayed. i don't remember how may summers i spent in atlanta, or what i did when i was there. i remember the hills of the neighborhood and how difficult it was for me to ride my bike. i remember getting lost in the little neighborhood and having a neighbor drive me and my bike back to my father's. instead of being happy i was home, he yelled and threw a fit.

i couldn't have been older than seven years old. i was lost! this wasn't my neighborhood! but he didn't see it that way.

i remember when he bought me new ballet shoes (a sport i was never interested in, but he insisted i participate in) and i wanted to prance around the house in them. when the mailman came, i ran outside and got the mail. i thought i was doing something good for him... i just wanted him to be happy with me. instead he beat me to a pulp for wearing my new shoes outside on the cement (he said they were damaged) and at that point i decided i was damaged. i couldn't even do anything right. i couldn't do anything.

and when he spent his 40th (? or was it his 41st?) birthday in the hospital. he suffered a series of mini-strokes after he decided it would be a good idea to drink a six-pack and swallow a bottle of valium. i remember when i found out he had been sitting in that hotel room for more than two days, covered in his bodily fluids. i still have a hard time picturing it.

and the thing is, i was old enough to remember his birthday party. i remember some things, like the courtyard of the hospital, and that he was in a wheelchair, and that we had cake. why don't i remember where the hospital was? even if it was in baton rouge or in new orleans or somewhere else? why don't i remember which, if any, of my sibilings were there?

i spent so much time forgetting and i'm realizing now all that did was a dig this hole i've gotten myself into.

it's warm here, though, even if it's dark. i know i can stay here and i'll be okay. few things can truly hurt me if i stay here. but this isn't happiness. i don't see the colors of the world -- i don't enjoy the things i should. i have so many gifts that i cannot enjoy inside this hole, and i've decided that after eight years i want out.

toni says she can help. she says it will be difficult, and we'll have to bring up a lot of these things i cannot remember.

but she says we can do it. she seems pretty sure she can take my hand and guide me out of this hell i've been sitting in for so long.

she can do it, but can i?

before | after

miss me?

make a difference - July 12, 2007
in short - February 20, 2007
gameday - October 14, 2006
quickie - October 02, 2006
roxie bear - July 06, 2006