So I ended up sleeping twelve fucking hours last night when I did get home. I got dressed and found my dad outside working on my car, and he looks up at me standing there and asks, “You okay?”
He asked me that last night, and he asked me that last week, and he asks me that almost every time that I’m feeling... not my best.
My mom doesn’t ask that a lot. When she does, I can excuse it as being tired and she’ll accept it and that’s it. I can say that to my dad, or just tell him ‘yeah’ or ‘I’m okay’ and he nods but... idk, he kind of stares for a moment usually, like he’s making sure, maybe, or like he knows I’m NOT but gets that I’m obviously not going to admit that. I don’t know, I just think that when it comes down to it, Dad notices I’m not okay WAY more than Mom does, or maybe he accepts I’m not okay more than Mom is willing to. (There are reasons I don’t think Mom is willing to, and I’ve talked about them to a few friends before, but I’m not going to get into them here. It’s really emotionally draining for me, and it’s not that she is a bad person or doesn’t love me or care, but... yeah.)
I walked into the living room, and Mom’s talking quietly to Little Sis. Little Sis puts on this big fake smile and Mom tells her “That’s not what I meant” or something. Little Sis says, “It works for Dad” and Mom makes a comment that he’s easy to trick or fool or something...
I kind of just stood there for a moment before taking my sweater and putting it away, but it’s sticking in my mind.
Because I don’t actually think Dad’s fooled by it, I think he just doesn’t know how to address it or feels it’s best to leave it. Little Sis isn’t exactly okay with opening up to anyone but Mom, anyway. Even me, she’ll just mutter at me when she’s obviously NOT fine, and I still remember too clearly too many times I got my head torn off for asking to bother pressing any further.
And you know - I just find it kind of a morbid amusing, I guess, that Mom’s making comments about Dad not noticing those kinds of things, when in my experience the reverse is true.
I think if I ever admitted any of my problems to my parents - like the fact that last week, my forearms were ACHING and I almost couldn’t sleep for the bad anxiety I was experiencing and how shitty I was feeling - it’d be to Dad. I don’t think I ever will talk to my family about it, especially my parents, because of reasons that are mostly to do with me and the shit in my head and not them (not really, even if it would sound like it when I explain it), but if I thought any of my family would listen if I admitted to how bad things were in moments like that, would take it in and not... freak out on me, I guess... it’d be Dad.
He’s not perfect at all and there are times that I just... I am so angry and upset with him and feel like there’s never going to be a closeness between us... in things like this? My dad is just so quietly constantly there for me, emotionally.
And I really love him for that.
