It was during the initial stages of legalization in Maine, when I still smoked, and didn't have a "license to smoke" -- I was pushed out of my kitchen door in response to pushing my dad, but he called the police, and I was in a jail-cell for a bogus assault charge in just an hour.
They found weed, and I was put into rehab, and even had community service.
bought a cat at the SPCA where I volunteered, calling him Dukie, and
he's "my" cat.
I didn't fix my relationship with my father, though.
To this day, he is very defensive.
He is protective, and ignores me.
I remember when he gave away the family mandolin, I was definitely not going to have the same relationship with him.
He's a tough, contractor-type guy. Runs a business in heating (essentially) with a side in plumbing, and is kind of both a mechanic and engineer.
As a musician, that mandolin could have held us together, as opposed to separating us. So far, it is not recoverable. It is worth at least $1,000.
He's mostly a mechanic. I've played guitar twenty years.
I'm the engineer in my family, but they still don't listen to my music much (either of my parents).
I've had phases with cigarettes, but I stress-smoke, and the addiction is fake.
I want to turn my hate into love, and I know it all started from that experience.
I was in an apartment eventually, far away from home, and lonely as hell.
He even helped me 'get up' I've written about, from an overdose when I was in my apartment, but still showed no sympathy.
I crashed again later on, and fell in the shower, needing stitches in my right eyebrow.
They actually had to do a "fast stitch-job" but it was strange how much it hurt, as they drove the (seemingly) cape-cod style fish-hook through my face.
It started as I was just lying on a mattress, watching TV, and wanted to find my vaporizer.
He would just keep saying, "Brendan. Calm down." When I needed my vape to calm down.
I had a small amount of wine left, and I was on a heartbreak bender.
He didn't understand.
To this day, I still struggle with him ..
I need therapy on that account most of all, since I've taken care of most of my actual PTSD. Because I "fought" my PTSD directly .. Some people might understand what I mean.
PTSD with fathers is sad, but I guess I might have some of that kind that still lingers.
He's always been hard on me since my teens.
I wrote a poem to symbolize this, that I wanted to turn into a song, but I rush my creativity lately to move on to the next thing, so
I can't find the lyric, because I can't find my phone right now.
If I could let him know somehow, how bad that experience was, I would.
We haven't had a chance to talk about it, and I just kept moving as a musician and songwriter.
My life evolved when I became more mentally sensitive, and in tune with the universe at large, or at least the world at large .. the internet, and the music industry. As slow as the process was.
And he might have seen me as grandiose.
I wish I could work out my relationship with my father.
He's a good man deep down, but he doesn't realize I'm still younger than him, and not really his equal. I'm his son, and he is the one who truly is meant to be responsible. I am the one who is responsible though, on all levels, and I have to take care of myself mentally, and personally, without the help of many friends or support, and it's been this way for years. And although intelligent still need to know that I "don't need to hate my father" because I never wanted to hate my father.
We never talk.
Those prior words dawned on me this morning, and they are true.
I've collapsed, and I've O.D.'d, and I've been to the "system" camps so many times, there is almost no way to convince him it's even worth talking about.
I think some people think I had a problem with my girlfriend, but the problem was quickly transferred to a disliking toward authority figures, the way the world is led by ignorant men, and how much I wanted to avenge myself.
I have no fake persona, though.
I am able to fight (in my own ways), and I've destroyed, and fought most all of my PTSD.
After my last 'stay at the hospital' I was reading the file of my treatment plan, and PTSD is no longer a diagnosis that I have.
I was also proven to have shown no present sign of bipolar disorder, so that diagnosis was removed also.
I was even told that I was a "Model Patient" -- if that is special or cool I don't know) but I maintained myself in the system.
The truth is, I was a very nice, and gentle person for most of my life. I always was nice to people, women especially.
I never tried to upset anyone, or make anyone angry.
I never went out of my way to fight some imaginary war.
I never took the internet so seriously,
And I certainly never wanted to have any type of verbal, or virtual, or physical 'match' with anyone.
Still think of that mandolin.
A classic 1927 Gibson mandolin, I made only a few songs with. "See You Again" and "Magneto" are two songs I made with it.
It had a beautiful sound, and I took to it naturally.
He gave it to someone, and it's sad, because I told the officer in the car that I "was going to sell the family mandolin" to get back up from my arrest. The mandolin didn't last, since I guess everything is in a file with cops, and their words to share with others.
The same cop who gave those words to my father was there the day I was last dealt with by the local police, who now are not respectful toward me also.
That day I was only drunk, and wanted my check-money.
He actually used my original "arrest" as reason to debase me from needing money ..
It only upset me more, or a lot more.
I feel like he enjoys provoking me, now. He uses threats, and punishments on a 35-year-old man, and it makes it even worse that I wanted to start a business of my own a long time ago.
Sometimes he is immature, and I can't stop his behavior.
He's gotten more serious over the years, but I truly still have some hate for hi that is undealwithable.
I don't need therapy over females.
I need therapy over how negligent, ignorant, and debasing some parents can be to totally innocent children.
In the end, it doesn't matter.
I've fought, I've defended, and I've learned my own style.
I've become the person I am anyway.
The way I am now is the way I am now.
It may never be worked out, but it feels like a repeating karma.
I hope he understands my need for an apology, because I actually had a broken hand, and I only injured myself back then. The arrest was proven to be kind of bogus, and that a "mere push" does not count as assault. In spite of all the work I did to go through rehab and community service, the charges were dropped in a fleeting way. The court even acknowledged I might need to work things out with my father, but nothing has worked.
So, I wrote, "I am starting to remember .. all of my anger really started with my father."
not you ..