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Entangled
Sunday, April 13, 2014 at 4:51 PM
I don't know how to live in lies. But to be able to keep you in my life, I am inevitably forced into it. I fear that the more I talk to you, the more I lose credibility, the more I lose the part of me that's real and true. That's why I try as much as I can to limit you in the side of myself that is foreign even to me.
But the truth is the easiest thing to remember, and I often forget. How can you live in such a way? Do you maintain a record of your pathological deception? The details to make everything seem less false? I wish I can help you, and I wish you'd let me. Yet you never had a sense of accountability with my feelings, or anyone else's. There's not even a hint of remorse with the pain you've brought me, brought us. You never apologized for hurting me. And I've long accepted that. However, it's as if, because you feed me, support me financially, you can already do as you please with me. I'm more human and more alive than you think. I'm not an animal. If you want to treat you like a father, treat me more like your child. You are missing the point of fatherhood. And you have skipped the very essence of it. You have deprived me of a father-daughter connection all these years. And who am I, your mere child, to point that out? You consider yourself all knowing. And those kind of people are the hardest to get through. I love you. And there are better ways for you to love me. I still chose to love you despite it all. So, I suppose, you owe me that much. |
“In most books, the I, or first person, is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism, is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it must have been in a distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more particularly addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers, they will accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will stretch the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to him whom it fits.”
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