3.13.23

tonight is the third night in a row i played guitar.

it's my dad's guitar, the same one he tried to teach me how to play 15 years ago.

i can still remember us sitting together in his room.

his hands were so large, stretching across the neck of the guitar.

he made it look easy, he'd been playing for decades.

i was young, and impatient with myself, frustrated i coulldn't do it. angry my fingers hurt and weren't longer, couldn't reach, couldn't hold down the strings.

now my hands are slightly bigger, but he's gone now.

youtube tutorials aren't the same as the guidance of a father who tried but didn't know how to instill patience. how to kindly discipline. how to healthily hold me accountable and allow me to grow and go where i needed. a father who grew up amid his own turmoil - that he often talked about. how we should be grateful i wasn't raised by his father because if i was, i'd be black and blue. a father who told us how he watched his brother get beat. a father who weaponized words - the only words he knew.

i am not my father, though i want to keep the gentle memories alive. i want to cling to the moments, the memories i was able to Understand his love.

i used to pray for him to be happy. i prayed to whatever god would listen. the greek ones, the roman ones, Adonai. at one point i even sought out Allah.

he wanted my sister and i to get along.

"when i'm dead, you'll only have each other"

tell that to our mother. who hated when we were on good terms, because that meant she felt like the odd one out.

"you're ganging up on me"

she barged into the bathroom, we'd blockaded ourselves in there. seeking sanctuary, seeking solace, solidarity.

i wish i had been stronger. i wish i'd been braver. i wish i hadn't walked out.

dissociation and delusion were my escape hatches. they kept me safe.

i am learning how to ground myself.

playing guitar for the sole purpose that it makes me happy and reminds me that i was loved, as imperfectly as it was - is incredibly healing.

life is about more than simply surviving.

i wish i could tell myself there was so much more than the abysmal reality i resigned myself to. i wish i could root for myself. i wish i reached out, across the dark room to my little sister who's always been there, who i asked for, who i abandoned in my anguish, who has yet to give up on me though she has every reason to (i suppose reparations is a good enough reason to stay, though she's patient and knows it's a long time coming)

i teach middle schoolers about abuse now and how to prevent it. how to communicate with others, and with themselves. i learn a lot from them, and i hope they are learning something good from me.

i am tired of making impulsive decisions rooted in fear. i am going to be more thoughtful.

i have been saying less and doing more.

i want to embody my values like the people i admire most.

i will embody my values like the people who have poured into my cup.

i have dreams and i am going to work to make them into a reality. i want to continue learning and challenging myself to be better. i am excited for what's in store.