Daddy Issues

I know a lot of people love their Daddy. My daddy, not so much. It wasn't that he was a bad father, he was a drunk. He tried many times to work the twelve steps of AA. He would get soberish and not drink for a few years and think that everything was fine. And he would start drinking again. The experts are right about somethings. Everytime he would resume drinking, it was like the interveining sobriety never really happened. It made holding down a job pretty difficult.

With new jobs, came new houses(home is still a place I've yet to find) and new schools and new freinds. I never really learned to make freinds, because by the time I had a freind or two, we would move. Sometimes across town, sometimes across the state. To this day, I still have trouble making and keeping freinds. I try so hard not to make anyone angry, becasue I'm affraid that they won't like me. I always felt like I was on trial with my freinds.

I am getting better. It seems like I am picking better freinds here lately. The freinds I have now understand that "no" means "no" they understand that while I love and appreciate them, I often have other things I have to take care of. They also understand that I have different groups of friends. I guess this is what most peopel learn in their late teens and twenties. I got a late start.


I also was ashamed of my father. He was pretty weird outside of the drinking. Later in life, he started to cross dress. For a introverted teenager, it was too much too handle. I watched as my siblings treated him like nothing was out of place. I judged him. I thought he was weird. I thought he was crazy. At times, I thought he might be gay. I couldn't wait to get out of the house. The funny thing, he always loved sports. We could always talk about sports comfortably.
I realize now that my problems with my father were really mine. My siblings did not have the trouble accepting my father for who he was. I guess since I could not accept him as he was, no one would eer accept me as I was. Judgement is harsh and harms the judge as much as the one being judged.

As soon as I graduated, I shipped off to basic training. If I could survive thirteen weeks in basic, I would be a Marine. I had this vision that once I was a Marine, no one would be able to hurt me again. I would find that strangth that I thought I was missing. I would find someone that would take care of me, because the Marines ws full of men.

I survived basic and I was a Marine. I had the uniform. I spoke the language. I was tough. I was disaplined. Then I arrived in the fleet. Nothing like being the FMF to realize that Marines are just a microcosm of society as a whole. There are good honest Marines. There are Marines that are total douche bags. There were generous Marines, scamming Marines. Marines were people and poeple sometimes suck.

While I was sationed at Camp Pendleton, I was allowed to drink on base. And drink I did. And I fell in love. About once a week or so. Sometimes I could manage a couple of months, but I never seemed to be good enough.

I understand now, that I never really loved or was loved. It was a physically thing that brought me a momentary connection with someone. I always thought that I could find someone just for me. I don't know if I had approached these realtionships sober or actually dated and worked at them instead of just sleeping around things would have been different. Most likely not, becasue the men I was using were just as commitment phobic as I was at the time.