Blogging is no substitute for journaling. I've always known this, but every now and then I'm reminded of it in dramatic fashion. When I blog, I sit down with a rough idea of what I'm going to say. When I journal, the words just flow, and I often learn something about myself that I otherwise wasn't aware of.
Today I sent my first father another letter. This is my third. Over seven weeks have passed since the last attempt. So I try again. I'm not sure what else to do. Silence seems so bad because it doesn't tell you anything. I have no idea if he's reading the letters, throwing them out, trying to find a response, or simply hoping I'll go away. I won't. But I don't know what else to do right now. (I have some ideas, but I keep hoping that he'll just respond to the letters, rather than a phone call or asking someone else to contact him.)
I sat down to write about this in my journal, and something came out. My real fear in all of this, I think. (I say I think because anything that comes out in my journal is always open to revision. This is how I feel about it today. I reserve the right to feel differently tomorrow.)
I don't think I'm looking for acceptance from him. I have three parents that love, support, and accept me. If I don't have a fourth, I will survive. Having a relationship from him would be nice, but it isn't necessary. It isn't what I'm really looking for.
What I'm looking for is, in a way, harder. I have long disliked men, as a rule. I had many troubles with my peers growing up, and I don't tend to trust men. (I've found a few since that I love and trust, and so I hope I've gotten over this to some extent.) But the problem is more internal. As a male, I have a tendency not to trust myself, to think of myself as not compassionate enough. There are many people who would say I'm wrong. And I love them all for that. But deep down, I don't know if I believe I'm compassionate. That distrust of men, though overcome somewhat when it comes to others, still seems relatively entrenched when it comes to myself.
I think I need my first father to be a good, compassionate man. I need to believe that I came from that. If I find out that he's heartless, I worry that will simply confirm my own worst fears about myself.
I still hope to find a compassionate man who just is overwhelmed and doesn't know what to say to his long-lost son. But I realize I might need to prepare myself for the worst. Not rejection as such. But the confirmation that my father might not be a compassionate person. And if he isn't compassionate, I will need to find a way to believe that that doesn't say anything about me. Right now, I'm not sure how to get there.
So for now, I'll keep sending letters and hoping he'll show me that I might be okay, too.