My Fucking Father's Darkness Is Not My Darkness ... Yet We Both See Darkness

I've been thinking about My Fucking Father's latest lecturing towards me. As bad as My Fucking Mother is with her yelling, she seems to be so crazy that she forgets that she yelled her head off whenever she calls me out for dinner. She doesn't hold grudges, I don't think. My Fucking Father, on the other hand ... well, he's who I learned how to hold grudges from.

What I hate most about him is that look he gave me when he dramatically sat down on the top of the steps while I was leaving on Friday night, calling me out on my storage facility.  It's a look I have seen many times, but it only started when I was an adult.  When I was a kid they were filled with rage, but after I have grown to be ... well, this kind of man, well short of what either of us had hoped for, that rage has been replaced with a mix of incredulity, resignation and, most hurtful, sadness.  His eyes squint, as if he's trying to shoot the pain that he says is in his soul.  He acts as if I inflicted this pain in him, through actions that I think make him an over-sensitive dick -- things like not being a CEO by now, not having a Ph. D., not cleaning the house spick-and-span every single fucking day.  And so his overwrought cry of the soul is, I think, his way of throwing back in my face what he thinks I'm throwing in his every day, even though what I'm doing is just living.

And that's the scary thing about My Fucking Father at times like these.  I hate my parents because my parents hate me.  But my folks, in particular My Fucking Father, seem to be in such a darkness because they are upset with me.  We are depressed because of each other, is what I'm saying.  And it is becoming difficult to shake that while our source of ire and suffering is the other, we nonetheless are both suffering.  From my standpoint then, it is going to be very, very hard to prove I'm right when both My Fucking Father and I claim ownership to this place of suffering, and to this depression.

I should bring this up with the shrink.

---

We are in a standoff now.  That's good enough for me.  My only way to get back at him for the years of condescension and abuse is to outlast him.  They're going to Las Vegas in a couple days, and they know that they can't stop me from strewing my old clothes around the house, move back into my sister's better bedroom, or allow dust to float all over the place.  Well, unless they have another diabolical plan up their sleeves.

Partly I stay because I'm afraid of The Real World.  Partly I stay because I want to show my parents how much I hate them for ruining my life.