Drunk Dreaming and Dads

I remember the first time I felt embarrassed about not having a father. I was in second grade, and Ms. King had everyone go around the room and say what our parents did for a living. My face got red when I told everyone in my class that my parents were divorced. I don't remember if I used the word "divorce" or if I even knew what that meant. I just knew that I didn't have a dad like the rest of the kids. One time I told a kid I didn't have a dad, and he reminded me that everyone has a dad, so that would be impossible. I guess what I meant was that I didn't have a father that anyone would like or who was worthy of the title. I have forgiven him after many years of hating him with a passion. But I still don't want contact with him. He guilt trips me by sending me pictures of Jesus and reminding me that Jesus would want me to forgive him, implying that I haven't already and that forgiveness somehow means that you have to be in contact with the person. On the contrary. It is not necessary to have ongoing contact with someone in order to forgive them. I have done just fine without him.

 I had a drunk dream last night. I can't remember the last time I had one of those. It was so easy in the dream. I wasn't repulsed by the taste, and I felt no effects of the alcohol coursing through my veins. It was simply an act of rebellion without any consequences. I know that reality would not produce the same results. I hate the taste of vodka (we did shots of it in my dream), and I become even more caught in my head than I am while sober.

 At the age of 24, I am attempting to create standards and boundaries for myself. I am still young, and I still have a lot of learning to do in this area. I am working on it. I am trying to tell myself what I am allowed to have control over and what I am not. I do not have control over other people - what they think, what they say, how they behave. I have control over who is in my life and who isn't. Sometimes I purposely don't reach out to people perhaps to prove to myself that I am in control over who I talk to. I always feel physically ill after I spend prolonged time reading about Sandusky. I did not take time to process until late in the day yesterday, and I remembered that writing is my favorite kind of escape. Writing was my tool and my stream of cool water even before I got sucked up into the party lifestyle. It is my favorite way of communicating with God, and the best way I know how to reflect on my pain and the overanalyzing torture I put myself through at times. It's the way I confront my fears and my doubts and discover my strengths and inner processes. There was a time when my brain kept going over the same fears and insecurities over and over again. I looked back in my journal and found that I was having the same struggles years apart. That is exactly what addiction does - it keeps you stuck in your same patterns. I changed my behavior a couple of years ago, and then again last December. My brain is taking a little while to catch up, but I am trying to have patience with myself, and trust that God is working on me and bundling me up into a more manageable form of human that can trust people more and allows herself to speak and have a voice. And I must also remember that my life is more than about me.