Because of people who “can’t talk”, for this or that reason. I think they don’t want their asses waterlogged. To me there’s only one GOOD reason not to talk when it comes to such a point of seriousness, loyalty. Not that I feel I can excuse a total silence. It’s still better to say “I cant’...” than to say … nothing.
I have been thinking about new possibilities, other people to contact, and that’s where it’s getting weird, at the point I’m getting a little worked up because of an hyper-empathic-non-even-asked-non-answer. That’s strong of coffee.
There’s not only an opposition to truth in this fucking story of shit, but more an opposition to communication and sanity. Why you people are alive for?
My truth?
I would kick your ass! Don’t think I’ll lick your bum if I have you in front of me.
Then now it’s said, do I hate my father? But fucking shit! WHO said that anywhere? What an idea of the helling rotten bagpipes was born in a feverish mind after a bloody mary? I never said that! I said I couldn’t stand the SOB. I think I made it clear enough they’re not the same guy. Then yes, my feelings for my father are mixed. What did you all expect? I feel rejected, and I don’t even know why, by somebody who looks to be a good heart. Admit there’re questions running (?)
I think there’s been a big misunderstanding. I’m not against talking, but please CUT the craps, my ears are bleeding.
What I was isn’t what I am. Not because I was abused means I think alike. You get me? And it’s been a fucking long way since then, to come back from where they put me without me even realizing what could be happening, because I heard only one thing for 20 years, their fucking liars’ truth. The fact that I felt things isn’t exactly like if I had had the knowledge, YOUR knowledge, to several of you.
One more thing… you think I LOVED realizing the truth by myself, by blows of migraines, nightmares and bad memories, and other panics? Then you should ring your own bell! Sucker.
XxxxXXxXxXXxXXXXxXx
The name of the person i’m looking forward to contacting is Marchand. She was still alive in Sept. 06. I agree that makes more than a year ago. But that’s all I’ve got. The name of the person who gave me the information will remain confidential.
The period of time my grand-mother is the more willing to leave for her holidays, I suppose, is May-June, because I experienced it in the past, and because three of them were born in may, and she in early June. So they can make a big celebration. That’s the time I could go there to search the documents. Even if I think there’s a great possibilty my grand-father have taken them, and put them in a hideout. I thought first that he could have destroyed them. But he was a fine agent. I don’t think he did so, because a document, with such a thinking of his, is usable in either sense, if you get me. I suppose that it could be in the same more difficult or easier. I explain, more difficult because I think he would’ve hidden them well. Easier because the only place there could be is his room at the time. The thing is, there’s a key. It was always locked down there. There were two keys, one in my grand-mother’wallet, and one she had in her long blouses, right pocket. Of course she couldn’t know what i’m working on, so I think I will have the possibilty to access this key, at best. Then once in the room… well I said he was a fine agent… it could be hidden in the wood of the floor, or the wall.
Now, I know she’ll move for xmas, too. And apparently, she’s not there lately. So I know I could have time to proceed. And friends at whom I could stay for a little while. Although they don’t encourage me in doing that. But anyway, if I can’t live in the truth, with those I love, and be myself, what’s the point.
Call me idiot. I’ll spoil my life. It’s only, like, the big attractor. I can’t help it.
My feelings…
I think I wouldn’t like to call my father Dad. I think I prefer Papa, really. I don’t have the same attachment to the first. Maybe only because of the language. But I would like to call him so.
I’m afraid to meet him, now I know, because I fear rejection the more, and also to do, or say, which is my kind, something wrong. I’m less afraid to meet him now I know. I would meet him in spite of my fear. I won’t hide my real feelings in spite of my fear. I’m afraid to cry though. I’m always afraid to break in incontrolable sobs on the street, or with people I’m not very, very close to. But I’ll risk that to see him. To be honest, if I could, I’d go to see him and tell him in the eye, but I can’t.It’s also difficult because I think he knows more about me, my life, what I had to live, what I think, and what I feel, than me about him. I feel disadvantage. Yet, I’m not afraid OF him. But I accept that. Because not everybody takes advantage. I don’t think he’s that kind of guy; to take advantage. In the same time, I think, that, maybe, it would be good to show him how I feel. I’d like to hug him, and he to hug me too. I’m just afraid to dare, but only because this fear of rejection ; nothing else.
I’d be happy that my father is the guy alive, that he’s simply the good person I think he is, and happy in his life ; and that we could get to know each others.
I’m afraid to be wrong. But i’ll take that risk too.
Maybe i’d still feel like kicking your ass but, thanks anyway. 4 years ago