How To Save Money On Therapy

"I'll save you money on therapy, Hugh. Life's a bitch." - Hugh Voltage, SR.

So, he finally called me back from my message on Father's Day and made one statement that made every pint of blood drain from my heart and eyes well up. You fucking miserable asshole. He told me I should take all of that money and just buy a nice car and that would make me feel better. He followed that up with news that one of my younger brothers was abusing pills and just fucking up everything. Then he said he would have to call me back. I just kind of sat there in the area in the back of my work where I smoke in awe of what had just happened. I'll admit that he is a particularly powerful man when it comes to words. He crushed me with one sentence in less than five minutes.

This is why we don't talk. This is why I avoid him. This is why I've mentally destroyed all family bonds in my head. I'd like to see what Norman Rockwell would paint of that interaction. Fuck, even Charles Shultz would never do that Charlie Brown. The dad would just say "Bah Bwah Bwah Bwah. Bwah Bwah. Bwah BuhBuh Bwaw." I'd prefer that.

This was after a fairly horrific therapy session yesterday where it came up that I remember the day he left when I was five and the therapist asked me to go over it with him. I woke up and realized he was gone and pinned a note to my mom's bed to let her know. It was the day I gave up on childhood and just wanted to take care of my mom and my sister. It was the day that I developed a crippling fear of abandonment, which is also why I fear giving myself to the neighbor and want to pull away so as to avoid being abandoned, AGAIN.

So there it is. Happy Friday. I can beat this. I can handle this, but fuck it hurts. One day Lucy is going to not pull the football away and I plan on crushing it.