Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Image by: sixthandmain
A small round plastic toy with a string that pulls it up and down when pressure is applied. My father is that string applying pressure and you are that small plastic toy that drags me along with you. Always trying to break away, just to be yanked back in again.
I wish I could cut that string, burn it, then bury it far far away. We could go anywhere, be anything we wanted to be, the two of us. We would be so much happier without him. You want so desperately for him not to make the mistakes your own father did, for me to have a father unlike yourself, but he just isn't that person. He will NEVER BE that person. But it will be a long, bumpy, road before you realize this.
He is an addict. Alcohol is his drug of choice. Even at times when he is alone with me, responsible for keeping me safe, I find myself caring for him in a drunken stupor. I find it funny that someone who thinks of himself so highly and belittles others so easily puts himself in a position that a child has to care for him, for he is too drunk to do it himself.
Run, please, run and do not look back.