Saturday, December 29, 2007

I wish I understood my father. Every time I tell my mom another one of my theories about why he treats me like shit, she always says the same thing: "He's an alcoholic, honey. It has nothing to do with you. It's a disease. The only thing they love is their next drink." She's probably right. But I still look for theories, I can't help it. I wonder if maybe I don't build up his ego enough with compliments. Or maybe he thinks if I was never born my mother wouldn't have kicked him out. Or maybe my face and body look so much like my mom's when she was young that it freaks him out to be around me. It's like a ghost or something. A ghost he used to have sex with. Or maybe he is afraid that if he felt true fatherly love for me it would remind him of the good old days when we were a family, and his heart would break in two. Or maybe my mom is right and he loves only his next drink and hates everything else, including me and the drink he is still holding in his hand.