The Talk

I had an interesting conversation with my father one day- no, not the one where he awkwardly tried to explain to me about having safe sex while referring the action as "It", though that it quite a humdinger of a tale. No, this conversation was supposed to bring my father and I closer together; to develop some understanding between us, but just ended up confusing me more.

As it turns out my father can't handle emotion pain very well, so he ends up hurting himself in order to grasp what he's feeling a little bit more. Logic I guess, physical pain is something you can control a little better by putting an ice pack onto a bruised hand after punching a wall or running a burn under cold water. This was something I understood all to well, and I sympathized with my dad, but didn't really know how to help him, because well, I didn't know how to help myself at the time.

Now, what confused me about this conversation was when it was over and done with; I felt like my dad understood me and what I was going through, but I was terribly wrong. It wasn't much long after that I found myself in a low place, and in details I won't get into, I ended up hurting myself. Instead of consoling me like a father should (at least I think so) and asking if I was alright; he stared at me and then got angry. He was angry at me for being upset with something demeaning he said to me. He was up set with me because he made fun of my physical appearance and I was sad.

I was sad that someone who always said I was beautiful told me that there was something physically wrong with me. This was a bad thing. I was supposed to take it as a joke and laugh at myself along with him, and he was angry at me because I didn't find the "joke" funny.

Thus, my confusion.

He said that I was "over reacting" and couldn't "take a joke". I had always had a very low opinion in myself and my self-worth, and I looked to my parents to help pick me back up and tell me I was beautiful. Guess I'm not, and from that day forward I knew I could never believe anyone again.

I stopped trying to open up to my dad, because I only found that it caused more problems than solved them. I still love my dad, because well, he's my dad and despite having the emotion understanding of a rock, has still helped my grew as a person- in other respects obviously.

He taught me how to be strong in front of others and to hide my emotions well. He taught how to hold back my tears and get my point across in a way that is diplomatic. I'm not sure if all of these things are good or not, but they certainly do help when someone is trying to bully you. I learned to strike back twice as hard and pick what battles I fought with strength and what ones I fought with my mind. But the most important thing I learned from him is that I can never give up trying, because I would disappoint him and there is honestly nothing I hate more than seeing that condescending look on my father's face.