MUTHAFUCKA!

06/17/2019 - 06/23/2019

My father is basically a sperm donor.  

The only credit he gets with me is at least he was a repeat offender; he stuck around long enough to make my little Brother, and for that, I'm grateful. 

He took off when my Brother was born, leaving my Mother, who was recovering from surgery after almost dying giving birth, to fend for us alone.  He never payed child support, until he was sued and had his wages garnisheed, and not once did he ever help out my Mom.

When my Brother was a baby, he wouldn't take him at all, and they never bonded as father and son.  

I insisted that my Brother come with me on the rare occasions that he bothered to pick us up.

4 or 5 times a year he'd take us to his place, bring us to McDonald's and take us to a movie (he fell asleep every time) and complain about having to "waste the money", he'd smack us in the mouth if we said anything disagreeable and he'd talk mad shit about our Mother.

Great parenting dick head!

My Brother, somehow, built up and harbored a resentment against me for his whole life.  He got it in his head that I had this great and amazing relationship with our father, which I did not, and he was jealous to the point of uncontrollable rage at times.  

Delusional inventing, abandonment issues, transference and displaced anger.

And violence, 

lots of violence.

  

Violence against me and everyone else, including himself.

I truly believe our father was at the root of my Brother's issues.

Of course, we need to own our shit as adults and work it out, but it just doesn't always go that way.

The whole world is afflicted with issues stemming from fucked up early childhood development and trauma.  I spent most of my life feeling broken, incomplete and not good enough.  I, myself, filled those cracks in with many very bad things for a long time.

Sometimes, we get hurt so bad, we live there forever.

Through our pain we hurt others and they, in turn, do the same.

This is the cycle of violence.
When my Brother died, our father did nothing to help, he didn't even offer.
I remember he called me when i got home from Manitoba; I was still in shock.  I was stunned and in a strange fog, I was listening to this prick tell me about his brand new truck and I just snapped.
I stopped him and asked him if he was really telling me about a truck?!

That was the last time I ever spoke with him.
He didn't come to the big 'Celebration of Life' party we threw at my house.
He wasn't invited.
Being a father myself now, I sometimes find myself lovingly staring at my beautiful children and wondering how fucked up you'd have to be to walk away and never look back.
Thanks for nothing.

On Monday I populated our shared google doc with all sorts of blood!
(My hands didn't last a day after my last phisio session before they started spazzing out)

On Tuesday I went hard at the gym!

Then I played at Bad Dog with my Narrative class at Academy Tuesday.

We made a format called 'Making UP a Murderer' and we do a sort of murder mystery/mockumentary type thang.

On Wednesday I played with Pepperoni Pizza Cats at The Social Capital Theatre on the Danforth.  I've been producing this show for almost 3 years now.
(I had a very disturbing dream about my hands.)

On Thursday I wrote like a 'muthafucka'!

On Friday I went on a field trip with my Daughter's school to Niagara Safari;
I saw 3 giraffes! 

On Saturday The Early Show was cancelled at Bad Dog for low attendance;
we played online trivia games in the theatre.

On Sunday I went to work...

MUTHAFUCKA!