The Paper Trails of a Parasite

-Daddy Issues – The Neighborhood-
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I’m one-hundred percent positive that if my father sat down with a therapist for half of a millisecond they would instantly diagnose him with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. He lacks emotional intelligence… the regular kind too. When I was released from the mental hospital for overdosing I stayed with him and it took about a month before I was ready to swallow another bottle. You might be thinking I’m being dramatic. I’m not. Quite frankly I don’t think even a bottle of cyanide could have gotten me out of the misery that was being in that house. By now you probably figured that I like making list–so here is a list of all the fucked up interactions I had with my father while being institutionalized:

1. After realizing the place wasn’t just going to let me go home after a day I figured I’d outta call someone to let them know where I was at. I couldn’t call my mom because she would cry, and that would make me cry. So I called my dad. He said he already knew I was there. He didn’t. He knew I tried to kill myself. He didn’t. And he knew about all the other attempts. He didn’t, and if he did but refused to get me help at any point, well… I’m not going to beat a dead horse, you’ll figure it out.
2. He drove down to Louisiana to see me, which was nice. But the virtue of that action was instantly canceled out when the first thing he told me when he saw me was to stop crying then shoved my eviction notice in my face. Thanks dad.
3. He told everyone that I tried to kill myself. It’s important to note that I do not like my dad’s side of the family. So on top of the stress of being eighteen in an adult psych ward, I now had to deal with pity from people who couldn’t even be bothered to show up to my high school graduation.
4. He compared my depression to his–his situational depression mind you. Apparently the divorce that he caused by being a terrible partner is the worst thing that could ever happen to a person; in his words, I had no reason to be depressed.

I ask myself why I still put up with him. It’s actually pretty simple… he pays my rent. Now to get back to what had me ready to pull a Chris Cornell, I was put in the middle of my parents’ bullshit. My dad and my mom have always had a rocky relationship, not even Mount Everest can compare to it. It was December 23rd and I always spend Christmas with my mom’s family;  up until that, I was over at my dad’s. It was supposed to have been a simple handover; we’d go to pick up my medications, then my dad would take me to my mom’s. That didn’t happen. Well, we did go pick up my medications, I was still inside the CVS when my mom called and told me to get food before I came over since her car was in the shop. When I relayed that information to my dad all he said was “Your mom’s a fucking liar.” Like any kid he doesn’t want to be involved in that I simply asked him to not talk about my mom in front of me.  By the time the sound waves left my mouth and entered his ear canal to be processed by the one functioning neuron he has, apparently the meaning of my words changed to “I’m picking sides and you’re a terrible father.’

About twenty seconds of silence passed before he looked over at me and asked if I knew what a manipulator and an abuser is. This is when I started to cry. I called him while I was in the hospital, upset because I thought the doctor was insulating that I was being manipulative, so what my father just said felt like the biggest slap in the face. The thirty minute drive felt like eternity as it just became a screaming match. I tried to jump out of the car; I don’t think under pressure. When I mentioned he doesn’t have regular intelligence either I wasn’t joking. When he parked in front of my mom’s house the first thing he said was for me to get out. So I did. I got my suitcase and walked to the front door. But then he yelled that if I didn’t come back to the car he would stop paying my rent. He didn’t.

I took 4 clonazepam tablets and went to sleep.