"Do you honestly believe that I don't take responsibility? Look at me son! Does this not look like a face that has cried ten-thousand tears..."
But how much am I really to blame for your father's father dunking his head in a toilet when he came home drunk one night or that when he left me & you, just brand new born, out on the 40 with no car, no well, no phone, no firewood and he came home drunk at 4am and said to me "I'll do whatever I want" that we took the hit for something he wanted to say to his father a long time ago but didn't dare.
That man, my former father-in-law, died recently which is why I imagine this is coming up and Truly may he Rest In Peace because I know he had a fuckin' hard life too...
Author's Notes/Comments:
Here's another aspect to that story - when his brother was down n out in Vegas he came to live in our barely hanging on, fully-blown dysfunction of a mess - let's check those figures folks, there's me, 2 brothers who fight, a 2 year old son, 1 car, no well, no phone, tin roof, no insulation, straw-bale walls, winter is coming (hello either one of you want to help me mix adobe, no? then could you watch the baby, not that either huh? well while you two sort out your childhood issues, I'll be over here mudding walls). He painted a picture of his brother as a predator who made up lies to get sympathy from women. Oh and then my (ex)husband would come home and ask me if I was fucking his brother, in front of our 2 year old son... it sounds completely fucking ludicrous I know...
There's plenty more of that plus all of my own insanity about staying with a man who once told me that he and his surf buddies used to have parties, target a girl, get her drunk, put her in the bedroom and take turns sexually pleasuring themselves using her prone passed-out body (and all the terms they had made up for the things they did to her), and that was only the beginning of his confessions only he wasn't the least bit remorseful, he was just telling a story like I'm telling you now... he took no responsibility for anything...
And what about me? Why didn't I run away? What is so fucked up inside of me that I didn't run screaming? I'm paying a high price for what I allowed to go on by somehow coming around to believe that I was always at fault...
