Exit Wounds

11 | normal girl

E L E V E N

LOS ANGELES, CA

          Loving my father comes with the acknowledgment that he's not perfect.

          It feels dishonest to even admit that was a hard thing to go through, especially when compared to everything else that has happened, both to me and to the world in the meantime—between Adam, political shenanigans, creepy clowns, wars, a pandemic, and global warming, my shattered idealization of my father has to be low in the world's priority list. I survived it regardless—all of it, even when I thought I wouldn't—and yet nothing felt nearly as devastating as removing my father from the pedestal I'd unfairly put him on.

          I stare back at the man who used to be my personal superhero, and it feels like staring at a stranger who knows most of my secrets. There have been many developments during the time I've been gone, developments that have changed the both of us, and I wouldn't be shocked to hear him say he doesn't know me anymore. Even though he just used his old nickname for me—I've always been Rebecca or Becca to everyone else—it only hit me hard for a brief moment.

          No person on Earth will ever measure up to him, a fact that eventually becomes clearer in every situationship I find myself in, and, though that's hardly the healthiest of relationships to have with one's father, it's also the healthiest and most rewarding relationship I have with a family member.

          It's sad. It's pathetic, really, that I search for him in everyone that crosses my path, and it's unfair for those people, consistently failing to meet extreme standards I don't actually expect them to match. The one time I allowed myself to even consider pursuing something serious with someone—the multiple times with one person in the entire world—always fell flat, with me coming up with the most egregious excuses not to do it, and I've been stuck in this cycle of self-sabotage for years. Even after I turned my back on my father, everyone will always come second to him—even Sadie, even Michelle, even Nick.

          I mentally groan. Even when we're on opposite coasts, even when he's in New York being talented, successful, and pretty, even when I'm stuck in Los Angeles for an entire week with my family, he somehow finds a way of weaving his way into my thoughts like mold. Like a disease. This is dangerous territory I'm headed towards, and every single red flag ahead of me is flashing bright like a giant neon sign, sirens blaring everywhere I go.

          So, I decide to focus on the matter at hand. I pull the chair in front of my father's desk, move the family memorabilia aside so I can't see the framed photographs of my youth, when I was still a normal girl, and sit in front of him. Sitting in front of him, surrounded by memories I've spent years burying six feet underground, is one of the hardest things I've had to do, and I have to dig my nails into my thighs to steady myself and to resist the urge to bolt out of here.

          The intensive therapeutic process I put myself through during the years following my departure from Los Angeles was vital to dismantling the idealized image of my father I had built, which, in turn, helped me not feel so crushed by the outcome. The fact that he hadn't come to me after the whole Adam thing was devastating in of itself, but he hadn't been there simply because I hadn't told anyone where I was or that I was leaving. I didn't tell anyone what happened, well aware it would backfire and ruin my life even further, so I can't resent my father for not being perfect and miraculously finding out the truth. It makes sense from a logical standpoint, which is why it was so hard to come to terms with.

          The man standing in front of me is not the same man I turned my back on years ago. He's not perfect, either, and never has been. He's always been much easier to love than my mother, something I'm assuming she won't ever stop resenting me for, and it makes me wonder whether they feel the same about me and Michelle. Michelle has always been better at everything—smarter, more talented, more athletic, nicer, kinder. She's always been more well-rounded, whereas I'm sharper and rougher around the edges.