He Just Won’t Leave Me Alone

Blog Post 17

This is the story of my life and the story of my relationship with my father. He just won’t leave me alone. Even if I ask him to. Even when I tell him to.

When I was younger, he touched me, even when I told him not to. He’d smack me on the butt and call me sexy, even when I told him not to. He’d kiss me on the lips, with his mouth open and reach for my boobs, even when I told him not to. He’d come into my bedroom when I was undressed and refuse to leave.

I have asked him not to contact me. And of course, he had to have the last word. He had to try to provoke a reaction out of me.

I got married a little over a month ago and I didn’t invite him. It was a beautiful, simple, low-stress ceremony and celebration. Since it’s been a while, I thought that perhaps I wouldn’t hear from him, but in the back of my mind, I knew. He’s got a history of not respecting boundaries and of course he couldn’t respect that I asked him not to contact me.

I know it irks him that I’ve done this, and I haven’t explained, unless you count those times when I asked him to stop touching me in the moment. Asked him to stop leering at me. And making terrible comments. He had his chance to course correct.

I don’t want to listen to his excuses. I won’t listen to him blaming me, denying that he’s done anything, or calling me too sensitive. Again. That’s what he’s always done. He’s the center of his own universe.

Quite frankly, when I opened the card and read that he had signed it, “Your former dad,” I laughed. Just a bit. It’s not that funny, but it’s also not very powerful over me. Not at all.

I admit, curiosity got the better of me and I had to open that envelope. If he ever sends me a check, it’s going to the Rape Crisis Center. I don’t want his dirty money. I was actually relieved that he didn’t send any gift, just his words.

I unceremoniously threw the card in the kitchen trash with a bunch of orange peels and old lettuce. As far as he is concerned, he mailed that card into a void. He tried to incite a response, but the only response he’ll get from me is silence.

Reader, I married him

Blog Post 16

Reader, I married him

I got married to my long-time boyfriend/fiancé a couple weeks ago.

It was a beautiful ceremony and reception. Very simple. We were married in a National Park with a few close family members and friends. And a dog. We held the wedding and reception in an old Civilian Conservation Corps pavilion. So, it didn’t just look rustic; it truly was. It was a cool day and we had two big fires in the stone fireplaces to keep us all warm.

My father was not invited or even told about the wedding.

It was a huge decision, because there is no going back from that one. He would notice that he wasn’t invited. Other extended family members would find out, too. He’s not in any wedding photos because he wasn’t there. He’s conspicuously absent.

I feel really great about it.

Not having him there allowed me to enjoy the day and the people that were there, the people that we wanted to be there. I didn’t have to worry about him somehow making the event about him. I didn’t have to worry about him behaving inappropriately with the women (and young girl) that were there. I didn’t have to suffer through the sick feeling that I get every time I see him.

I got to enjoy the people that I truly love and not put on this stupid façade of respect for my father. I don’t respect him.

Not having him there, I had so much less stress and anxiety. I’m not afraid of what anyone thinks anymore. I care about myself. As I should.

The Toxic Wedding Guest

Blog post 11

The Toxic Wedding Guest

I’ve been planning, for the past two years, to get married. We want a small wedding, with only close family and a few friends, less than fifteen people including us. The problem was, if we talk about immediate family, my father would surely be included in that list.

I didn’t want him there, and I agonized over that for a good year and a half. Having him there would give me so much anxiety about what he would do, how he would offend other guests there, or make the wedding about himself.

At first I considered having a destination wedding. Having a wedding out of state would provide a plausible explanation for why my dad couldn’t be there, both to other guests and to him. He’s too old to really travel like that anymore. It would give me an easy way out, in that he wouldn’t be able to come and I wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of not inviting him and all the repercussions that came with that. In other words, it would really let me off of the hook. I looked at multiple bed and breakfasts in several different states, looked up local marriage laws, even considered Vegas. While all of these were doable, the problem was that a couple guests, who were very important to us, would not be able to travel to be there. It wasn’t really a fair exchange.

So after a lot of thought, a year an a half’s worth, I relented and offered to get married in town. And then my anxiety over it really began to escalate. I was still not estranged from my father at this point, and I was really worried about how he’d behave at the wedding. I was afraid he’d say horrible, sexist, insulting things to the women there. I was afraid he’d be inappropriate with me. You never know what he’s going to say. He really is a creepy old man.

And then one time when I was pondering this and discussing it, I blurted out, “Well if (twelve-year-old female family member) comes, we’ll have to really watch him, because twelve is his favorite age for little girls.”

And then I thought, Oh my God, what the fuck just came out of my mouth? And I knew it was the truth. I am sure that I am not the one that my father has molested. He’s so blatant about it that nobody figures out what he’s doing. I’m sure he’s grabbed a girl and held her too long and groped her breast in the guise of a hug, right in front of other people. He’s forced kisses on unwilling victims as they squirm away. He’s even charmed them to sit on his lap, then there is the hug, and before she knows it, there is an old man’s hand brushing across her breast. He’s a genuinely creepy old man and he’s not going to ruin my wedding with his presence.

But the problem is not as simple as not inviting him. I’d have to tell my kids why. And not some bland story, they’d really have to know. I may have to answer the question of other guests as to why he’s not there. I’ve already decided that they will get a bland yet final, “He can’t come.”

So this all came to a head just before Christmas. We made the decision to get married here, in town, and to not invite my father. I was ready to let the chips fall where they may.

Except for the fact that this stressed me out so badly that I woke up on Christmas morning with shingles. I recognized what it was and was at the urgent care at 6am on Christmas morning to get antivirals, which worked. But I should point out that risk factors for shingles at my age are being immunocompromised, which I am not, or stress. So, this decision caused me extreme stress, but I was determined to go forward.

I told my kids, and they were both tremendously supportive. I went through Christmas and winter birthdays with no contact with my father. He wrote sad letters to me protesting my rejection, but I finally told him to stop contacting me. So far, he hasn’t since then.

The wedding is about a month away and my father is not invited. I’m enjoying planning it and I expect it to be a good time. I’m free from the anxiety and worry as to what he’d do or say if he were to come. We’re planning on celebrating our marriage surrounded by people we love and who really care about us. I am looking forward to it.