1am Sunday morning after the Mayweather fight in my flying clothes on 3hrs of sleep and higher than I’ve been since 4/20 in Denver is not how I expected our first meet to go.
I didn’t know what I’d feel when I saw you, but I wished I had been more alert. You even brought the kids. It’s hard to fake sober when you JUST put the blunt down.
You were familiar but not comfortable. What I wanted was a sit down with just he and I, talking about our issues, addressing my emotional scars and coming to a mutual understanding of what it means to be “us”. Instead I got 20 Minutes in an awkward circle with a 46, 13 and 8yr old. I was happy to see the kids. I hadn’t seen my sister since last year and my brother in about 4. Shame, but also not my fault. Just life. I made sure I hugged them a lot and told them I loved them…they need to know that with me living over 800 miles away now. I’ll never have the relationship with them that they deserve. I’ll just be the “sister in New Jersey” forever. It makes me sad, but again, life.
I couldn’t look him in the eye. I planned on not letting him touch me, but in the spirit of the moment, under the influence and in front of the kids, I let him hug me. I felt nothing. I felt like I hugged a stranger in Times Square, although I imagine I would have enjoyed that more. From the brief glances I took, he looked the same…dressed in his typical garb: Cubs Tee, black jeans and sneakers…bald fade and a light gut. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I wasn’t ready like I thought I was. We exchanged small talk (something I hate dearly), and I mostly just paid attention to the kids, sucking in the awkwardness of them barely knowing me and trying to make up for it in those minutes. The conversation was nothing to mention. It was the hug afterwards that has my mind shattered.
He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed tightly. I hated it, but I let him. To be honest, I felt…emotionally molested. I could tell his hug came from love, but all I felt was years of hurt and pain physically attacking my body. His hands were pressed into my back. When he let go, the feelings of disappointment lingered on me. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such a negatively spiritual moment. There was a transfer of emotions and energies that didn’t mix well at all. The lingering has lasted through the day. I tried to shower it away, but I still feel it on me. I hate I let him touch me. All it made me do is make me miss my (step)dad as I’m reminded that my biological father’s hands didn’t feel like the love of the hands that raised me.
Outside of that, I felt nothing for him which was partially expected, yet devastating. How is it possible to feel no connection to the man responsible for your life? I didnt feel related or connected in any way. I think deep down I wanted to be able to melt in him and just cry…but I don’t trust him with my feelings, deepest thoughts and pieces of me…at least not until he acknowledges his wrongs, which may be never.
My mental health is at stake now. I’ve been struggling with this lingering feeling of disdain and uncomfortability as one of the men who ruined my life has put his hands on me, fucking up my qi and balance. I’m discombobulated and feeling dirty with something close to hatred. I don’t want to feel that. The point of rekindling this was to come to some type of understanding so that we didn’t have to be estranged. Now I’m regretting my decision and asking God what I’ve done. I’m truly feeling like some spirit is on me that I can’t get off, and he doesn’t deserve for me to bear his burdens.
I don’t love him. I don’t like him. I don’t care for him. I think if he died today, I wouldn’t fret besides feeling bad for my siblings whom he DID decide to care for. It would be ashame, but I wouldn’t cry or miss. We parted ways. I said I love you to my siblings once again, but he and I dare not. And it felt awkward not to, but I knew I wouldn’t mean it, and had already forced enough. This may have been too much. I don’t think I was ready.