Brain Dead at Thirty Three.

i keep telling myself ‘’I’m 33’’

as if reminding myself of something I’ve know for the last six months will somehow re-shape the part of me that has was born brain-dead:

My heart.

I’m 33. Yesterday.

I allowed my phone to be turned off.  Not really so much “allowed” as I was financially jumped.  So my phone is off until months end.  It really doesn’t matter.  I can still dial 911 if necessary.  Plus, fuck being accessible to everyone…...not that anyone calls.  Shit if I could black out online without feeling like “I should post this thought” or like I’m missing something, then it could be a perfect lie!  But….i digress.  My phone is off and I ordered a fruit bowl yesterday that I needed to go pick up.  Long story short, I went to my father’s house around the corner to use the phone and let the lady know that I was on my way.  Of course since we were in the same room, would he hear my end of the call.  After finding out the location of the apartment and repeating a few directions out loud, I hung up; to which my grand ole father had a comment in que and ready.  I confirmed for him that I was going to the east side.  When I named the Apts, it must’ve instantly jogged his memory.  I assume he’s been over there before…..i guess.  I really don’t know.  Don’t even care.  But as I was standing there thinking of the fastest route from his house to the east-side, he says “those apartments is where your sister lives.” 

0_o

I left immediately. This was only my second time, maybe 3rd, in my 33 years, hearing about this "sister' chick, who apparently was born before i was....

I got in my car, with my face still in its frozen bewilderment, and drove mumbling to myself,

I’m 33. 

Im 33.  The Day Before Yesterday.

I started to feel bad for not calling either of the men I deem full fledged or at least semi-failures of a father figure to wish them a lie.  Happy Fathers Day is almost like shit coming out of my mouth.  Its unbelievable and nasty.  So I don’t say it.  My dad called me.  I think that made me ultimately feel bad.  He shouldn’t have to call me.  Plus, despite the fact that he completely dropped the ball at being a father, I do love him, hands down.  As is.  My stepfather on the other hand, is a different story.  But I still wanted to cook for him too.  So I slaved.  I bought food, got off work and cooked until I almost passed out and my feet were too tired to stay in my sweaty gym shoes. Mind you, I’m cooking and cleaning as I go, in addition to trying to keep tracks on the doggies. Might sound like a small feat, but in my world, nothing is small and everything is hard.  Would be great if my life were a dick but….i digress.  Shortly after 9, I had made plates and dropped one off to my father.  I used his phone and called my mom to request she come outside.  I didn’t want to ring the doorbell and chance my stepfather opening the door.  I may have cooked for him, but the intensity of my emotions towards him have suddenly catapulted beyond my reach and just for saving face purposes, I just would have rather talked to my mom.  I fixed her a plate too.  I delivered them to her house, next door to mine, and was of course prompted by her to come in and get something ELSE to eat.  Ok.  I didn’t see his truck.  I went in. Immediately, standing at the end of the long hallway, was the man known as my stepfather.  I could never see myself skipping the “step.”  He stared or better yet glared at me until I waved and said hello and he returned my gesture with some mumbo jumbo that only he and God could decipher.  I go to the refrigerator and stand behind the door (my mom had it open) and reach for a plastic plate on the top.  While I’m doing this, little did I know, he was quickly and quietly shuffling to the same exact place.  Thank God for ice makers and water machines.  0_o. 
 In a split second, I hear my mom ask him if he’s hungry and then told him“Kendria brought us some dinner.”  I stayed behind the refrigerator door, which was still open.  I didn’t want eye to eye contact.  I just wanted him to get his plate and go away.  But I truly believe my heart was in the right place when i decided AND went thru with cooking this meal for him and my dad..  A good place.  An “I’m better than this” place.  His response: 
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

…..

well that was just awkward.

He said NOTHING.  I don’t know if he shook his head or made some kind of eye blink telekinesis or what, but his VOICE, as I stood RIGHT THERE, said NOTHING.  He just got his water, and walked off....i fought those fucking tears so hard!!! I REFUSED to cry in that damn house... 

By the time I finally made it back next door, it was all I could say to myself:

I’m 33.

I’m 33.  Today.

Someone somewhere probably believes that a woman should have confronted, dealt with and forgiven whomever for any of her issues, particularly father issues, by the time she is in her 30’s.  Today, I view myself as a woman who will forever be scarred, marred, tarred and feathered by my emotional displeasure towards having two dads since I was at least 3 years old, but having zero fathers.  I never did get emotional love or affection from them.  My father does kiss me every time he sees me and tells me he loves me, but lets be serious.

I’m 33.  It matters….but it doesn’t matter now like it did back when I was kid...i mean, the mold is complete. 

I’m scared of spending my life with no one because of my issues.  Finding a good counselor is hard and expensive.  Finding friends that can relate might be easier said than done, but then who wants to talk to a stranger (or anyone less than a friend)  that hasn’t been sworn to protect the privacy of their clients??? Not me.  I’m private. I may seem open and honest about my life, and where poetry is concerned, I am….but in my general day to day life, I am private, shy and nervous.  My trust has been broken with secrets I expected to be kept and weren’t too many times, so now, I barely open up to the ones closest to me.  But I tell you….there is nothing in the world that can compare or rival the feeling you have when you feel unloved by a man, since the beginning of your time.  This has nothing to do with relationships, love/ marriage, etc….that shit is fluff.  This is about not feeling ANY form of emotional connection, love or affection by either of the men who have been a constant in my life since I got here.  My stepdad’s been married to my mom over 20 years.  The last time I believed he loved me was around …..single digits. I have long felt worthless to both of these men, who i now am entering my 4th(?) year of living right under....

This blog isn’t about making mention of everything that has hurt me between these two men.    But my dad threw me off with that “sister” comment.  It hurt me even.  And to be honest, I either don’t know or will have to put it in a separate blog on how that made me really feel. 

My stepdad…..they say the eyes are the windows to your soul.  If true, then even his soul is nauseated by me.  It makes me and has made me question myself.  Who am I or What am I, that the two men that should’ve loved me like no one else in this world, make me feel hated. Mistakenly arrived.  How dare my real dad talk about some “sister”. …..i just wanted to say so bad, dude I don’t know what kind of parking lot pimping thoughts you are over coming up with, but I don’t have a sister.

Or a brother.  Never have.

YOU apparently have children all over America.  To feel unimportant to family, with special regards for your father, is more than just a blow to the head.  That is more like a bullet to the brain but you never lose consciousness yet feel all the pain. 

But im 33.

This should not be bother me. 

This should not be affecting me.

My stepfather hasn’t told me happy birthday since ……shit I don’t know….early 20’s….and that’s a maybe…its definitely contingent on whether or not I saw him…..if I didn’t, then there was nothing…..now he was a great provider…I always make sure to toss that in…im conditioned that way…..thanx for the roof over my head, the shoes on my feet and a mom who got to be a stay at home parent….only thing, she never really did master being a father….she probably thought …well….she didn’t have to…you were there.

 We call this “Bupkiss’’

i can’t feel anymore like permanent damaged goods.

I find myself diving head first into poetry because it’s the one place where love has never been challenged from them to me.  People appear to love me and when I find out they don’t or never did, I guess that’s why I take it so hard for so long….how dare a fraud get past me….how dare you treat me like you are one of my dads……

How dare a man

Come into a womans life

And treat the woman to be

As if her creation was the biggest farce since Columbus discovered America. 

How dare my dad tell me about my “sister” as if that term is just a loose goose.  There is meaning behind that and it doesn’t stop or start with Blood.  Sorry but I really feel like fuck her, fuck Kenny (my brother) and fuck anyone that doesn’t like it. 

I love my dad.

He told me my food was delicious on this same day he acknowledged his “other daughter”.....

My stepfather…..idk if he ate it or not….just like I don’t know if he ever read the poem I sent him a few fathers days ago....Just like I will never know if he EVER loved me.  ....i do know if i or my company walk past him outside and don't make it a point to acknowledge his existence, i will hear about it until the end...i'm still paying for the accidental sins of my friends....

But I’m 33.

Im not healed.

Im not a superwoman.

Im not ok with this.  I live next door to my stepfather….so seeing him give me the fuck you look is subject to happen ANY moment. 

But i'm 33

and im just shy of being brain dead....fish food....vulture pleasures....my heart is like puddy being shaped and molded to the figure whosoever decides to turn it into whatever they turn it into ....a disco inferno perhaps? 
..not enough weed in the world can change or make me forget that sometimes, better yet, All Times, i feel like a fatherless child.....even at the ripened age of 33....and it pisses me off....how come the fuck im not healed!!!!!!!!

But im 33.

And im not ok …yet!

Lord knows I want to be.  I want to move on from these unresolved emotions that have been bottled up inside of me since before I was a teen.  how dare i expect another man out here in this world to love me when the ones gifted with the chance to shape me weren't the slightest bit of interested.

But im 33.

And now I have realized…..due in part to my location…..

That the one thing I always needed…always searched for....
 even  fought a losing battle for….the one thing that could have changed at least a little something about me…..is the one thing I may never experience....

A father.

And even at 33, that shit feels like alcohol to a 3^rd degree.

jY