men and women

my father started dating a woman. an older woman, 8 or so years older than him. damn does she look younger than him, though. at first i kind of hated it. i lived with him for around 8-9 years since he gained legal custody of me, and it was always just me and him. my father didn't date, not from what i could remember anyway. the one girlfriend i remember him having, he was insanely more rude and mean to me, putting me more on edge. when i was around him it felt like eggshells, so autopilot kind of took over, leading me to make more mistakes than usual, which led to more comments and unnecessary scolding's from him.

as soon as he broke up with her, that went away. i never found out the reason why. but when he started dating his new girlfriend, i feared the same thing. instead, it was something else that bothered me a bit.

5 months i begged him for a pair of pants. i had no jeans for myself. for five months i asked for new clothes. and each time, he told me he didn't have the money to buy me clothes. yet every week and weekend, him and his girlfriend would go on trips to the mountains, cafes, malls, and always come back with bags full of clothes, for both of them.

i hated that.

that stopped becoming an issue once he got addicted to adderall, and he spiraled into a lot of other pills. he lost our house, so we moved in with his girlfriend.

i hated living there. i loved her. my dad was never home. and the few to almost none times i stayed times i stayed at the house, i would wake up to their arguing.

this is not the problem. the problem is this:

she sat down with me the day i moved out, as i was still packing up my room, she vented to me about their relationship. how my father ignores her, berates her, makes comments on purpose to make her upset. 

and i know this is true, because everytime i talked with my father, he would joke that he called her my mother's name, only to make her upset. i always thought that was mean. nobody deserves to be called the name of satan.

and it always comes to the same conclusion. "you aren't happy."

and clearly, the thing blocking your happiness, is my father. i know she loves him, but when does it become too much? do you love him more than yourself? there are other solutions than simply leaving him, which would be fixing him. can you fix a man like him?

can you fix my father?

she can't. i can't. nobody can fix my father, except himself. i've seen him do it before. my father's a good man. he saved me, and he quite possibly fixed a lot of me. 

but like my mother, my father is an addict.

and his girlfriend tells me, "i can't leave him. i love him too much."

i get deja vu.

one of my very close friends mothers, one i feel close to. any mother that gives me a hug, or puts her hand on the back of my head with a reassuring smile, i'll hold onto that forever. i'll find a mother wherever i can when mine refuses to exist.

my friends mother, she rants to me specifically, about her boyfriend. how he hit her. how he stalks her phone, breaks her car, her house, insults her children, makes horrible jokes about their self harm. how all around, he is the literal definition of a piece of shit.

and she can't fix him. she's a woman with curly blonde hair, and a warm smile, and not the best mother. not quite a good one, but at least she stayed.

she can't fix him. he's just a man.

"but i can't leave him, i love him too much. i feel chained by him, he knows me too much, i've spent too many years with him to let him go."

the time spent is worth more than the time you're going to spend in agony?

it's a broken record. it kills me everytime, even. from the very first day my mother sat me down and told me that her boyfriend hits her, abuses her, assaults her, and cheats on her, and all she can tell me is,

"i love him."

love. is love supposed to kill us? the women around me tell me in tears their love. their bruises tell me how much they love him. their sobs of desperation to only be cared for, loved, reassured, treasured, they try to teach me love.

my mother taught me love. a man who hurts you is love.

my best friend's mother taught me love. a man who manipulates you is love.

my father's girlfriend taught me love. my father who ignores her is love.

i taught myself love. love is not my mother. love is not my father. love is not pain, nor is it agony. love stares back at me in the mirror everyday.

and i grant myself fortunate enough to never fall victim to the angry hands of a man who can't grasp the concept of a gentle love.

i grant myself fortunate enough to blink and realize the women around me deserve the world, but all they have to do is ask themselves for it. not a man.

and crazy enough, the moment i stared at myself with the love i felt i deserved, an angel entered my life. someone who lays in bed with me for hours at a time at night, without a word, only our fingers brushing. and everynight i ask, "do you still love me?" for three months now. and the same reply i get,

"so much."

i am not my mother. a man is not more important than me. and a man will never be more important to me than my own daughter.