Many times if you tell yourself something over and over, you begin to believe it. Whether you realize it or not, we (humans) all have our own internal issues and many times they are too hard or too heavy to deal with so we push them to the smallest, darkest lowest part of our brain. This is known as our unconcious. Our unconcious mind subconciously controls our actions, behaviors and attitudes. In most cases it can cause us to be very unhappy people. The thing that sticks out the most to me in my unconcious mind is my father. I try to understand his actions and justify them to make myself feel better. However, I decided a long time ago that I will no longer make excuses for him and his absence. He is not around because he just simply does not want to be. I can no longer make the effort to always call him and try to build a relationship with him when all it is to him is a joke. I cannot make excuses for him when he does not answer when I call because he has my number and address just like I have his. I have not spoken to him since January and after many calls and countless voicemails I decided in February that he does not have to worry about me ever again. I will not call him, visit him or bother him ever again.
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Today, my mother did her usual 21 questions and she asked had I been talking to him and if he had been helping me out financially and I said no. I said the last time I spoke to him was in January and that was to ask him to help me with my rent. Every other time after that point when I would call him he never answered. So, how does he know I still have a place to live? He didnt care enough to call or even to tell me he didnt have it or couldnt/wouldnt help me. This conversation took me to a place where I didnt think existed. I actually screamed at the top of my lungs. Felt good. Actually very therapeutic. =)
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the actual image of u losing your composure enough to scream out in rage is intriguing.
ReplyDeleteExactly. . .that is only the second time that I have done that. . .The first was when I went off on Angie. . .
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