will you defeat them, your demons?

I just found this draft from the day after Christmas. I was going to post something else, and I will, as soon as this gets put up. This is just a good little example of the things that go through my head after run-ins with my father. 

The Dad caught me at home alone, so we had to have The Talk. In our family, we don't discuss things like the birds and what they do with the bees during The Talk. No, they just talk to me like I'm stupid and don't know that I'm fat, like I'm living in some sort of sugar-induced oblivion in which the reason my clothes don't fit is because they're made wrong and that I'm single because I "just haven't met the right guy." Um, okay.

So, The Dad corners me and says that he and The Mom and even The Sister are going to lose fifteen pounds, and I should set a goal as well. He goes on to say that it takes discipline and a strategy and I will feel better about myself and I'll be healthier if I'd just lose fifteen pounds.

And here I thought I could just click my heels together and wish really hard and do the hokey pokey and turn myself around and lose all the weight I need to in order to snag a husband and a much better wardrobe. Thank gawd he enlightened me. Because all these years, I've never tried to make a goal and workout and lose a few thousand pounds by being disciplined. I just thought I was turning in the wrong direction...

That passive aggressive rant aside, what he doesn't seem to realize is that if I lost fifteen pounds, no one would notice because I have so much more than fifteen pounds to lose. And that by harping on my weight since I was six (and I'm not exaggerating, because that's the age in which he entered my life) he hasn't done a damn thing but make me head to the local Piggly Wiggly to grab me a pint of Blue Bell. (No, I don't shop at the local Piggly Wiggly because it is in a scary part of town and I do not want to get my ice cream alongside the local ladies of the evening, but it sounded better than Kroger in that sentence. Keeping it reals y'all.)

I sometimes don't know what to say or do after a run-in with my father. Last night, I came home, and cried some more, and talked to Jesus some, and then this morning... I got up and my life went on as usual.

We're not going to have a sit down and discuss our feelings. That's not how my family works. If he was so concerned that he'd hurt my feelings, well- he would have thought before at least one of the four times he'd spoken and broken my heart. I can tell him how much he hurt me, and he'll feel bad (especially if I cry), but it won't make him stop thinking "she's fat" or make him stop reminding me that I've got to lose weight.

I wrote about forgiveness once. Looking back, I didn't realize that it was on New Year's Day, but I guess it was appropriate. The post was about him, my stepfather, but the only real father I've ever known. And, if I didn't forgive him, I'd have no father at all. And so I did. As I wrote then:

If nothing else I’ve come to learn that forgiveness is not an act or a decision, but instead a progression, a direction, and, if we’re really, really lucky, a conclusion.

I have to keep this in mind when he does what he does and says what he says. I can't take back hearing the words that he says that are so hard for me to hear: that once again, I am not good enough.

But I can talk to Jesus and go to bed and get up the next morning, going about my daily life. Because what choice do I have otherwise?