Monday, November 26, 2007

I felt I'd never get rid of this rage

It's almost comforting to express a sudden gratefulness to my father for allowing me to use his office, I imagine that maybe he wanted to give me something without terms. But now that he's dead it's so tempting to revise my past feelings to meet my place in the world at this particular moment. Like my 15-year-old self didn't really know what was going on. Too often now I see people I respect looking at others they might have been 10 years before as if their younger selves couldn't possibly know anything. This is the way personal history gets rewritten.

Sometimes it feels like my mouth was shut before it was open, that before I could speak my father had already moved terror in -- there is no memory without memory there is no memory. I'm trying to say something and he's holding everything.

As a kid I was always in pain, of course this sounds familiar just that pain moves around and reappears in different spaces. This pain was my body a broken toy, my head filled with glue, my dreams just more pain to make the other pain less painful. I didn't believe I would ever feel hope that felt like hope.

When I started going to my father's office on weekends, it was part of the battle we fought whenever we spoke, if I turned colder than the heat of his rage, except in the other direction, could I flip the balance and overcome? He knew he was losing me though still he could hold onto his educational attainment status-driven achievement; I still meant he was succeeded.

What I want to say is that his office was part of what kept me there I wonder if he knew that -- I had already started to think about leaving, if only someone had told me I had the tools but that I would barely survive, I would have left in a second just to avoid three four more years of suffocation. No dreams in the upper middle-class dream. But remember how I thought I needed to beat him on his terms, before I could do anything else? That was what kept me there, kept me under his threats about everything financial once he knew the rest was over it was a battle to see what he could own. When he'd threaten not to pay for college I thought what a joke I knew what he would never let go of -- my neck, I didn't know what was me and what was pain, me -- no that was the past the past I didn't remember the memory all of this rage I felt his rage I felt I'd never get rid of this rage.

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