#disfellowship

My dad has recently developed a condition that's made his muscles severely atrophied to the point that he can't even sit up on his own. I asked my mom if I could come visit my sick dad, and she said yes. I was allowed a half hour visit.

The first person to greet me at the door was Daisy, the two year old dog. She was very sweet and gentle and a bit shy. This was my first time meeting the new addition to the family, since they'd adopted her after I left. We never had a dog while I lived with my family.

My mom was holding Daisy by her harness at the front door. She looked like she had been crying recently. She asked us to put on our face masks before going upstairs to see my dad.

The furniture had all been rearranged, but it was mostly the same house that I'd left; small, clean, and crowded. I didn't feel nostalgic for it the way I thought that I would.

My dad was so skinny he was drowning in his t-shirt. His face was scruffy from lack of shaving. He was exhausted just sitting in his chair. He looked rough.

His voice was a raspy whisper, and it clearly took some effort to speak. I remembered being a little kid and him yelling at me and my siblings. He had a booming, deep voice. His laugh was hearty and warm. I think hearing his voice affected me even more than seeing his withered body.

We were both wearing our Star Trek t-shirts. I gave him a gentle hug and a "kiss" through my mask. Maybe I shouldn't have done that. I sat down next to him on his hospital bed.

We talked casually, but there was an obvious awkward tension hanging in the air in every pause. I don't remember everything we talked about, or in what order we talked about it.

My dad asked me if I had been doing much baking and cooking. He was the one who had taught me to cook and instilled a passion for food in me. I told him yes, and went on to tell him about the various recipes I'd been making. I couldn't read his expressions, mostly because he could barely move his face, but I thought he was pleased to hear about my cooking success.

We talked about Star Trek. My parents have differing opinions on the new Picard series. My mom said it was great, and my dad rolled his eyes.

My fiance told them about his job and about his music career. I'm not really sure how they feel about his music career. They seem mildly interested, but not really. Maybe they think he's chasing wealth or fame or something.

I asked my dad how he ever let a dog in the house. He was the reason we never had any pets larger than a rat growing up. He said that it was only Daisy's very sweet and calm temperment that persuaded him.

I asked where my brother and sister were. My mom said they were "out and about." In other words, they were away from the house so I wouldn't see them and they wouldn't see me. It hurts to think that my siblings need to be "protected" from me. Or worse, maybe they just didn't want to see me. I brought two scarves that I knit as gifts for them. I wish I could have given them in person.

One of my uncles stopped by the house while I was there. My mom sent him away, so I didn't see him. When she went downstairs to answer the door I almost said "Go warn him there's an apostate in the house" but I thought better of it.

My fiance and I left when my dad's nurse aide arrived to help him shower. My mom thanked us for coming. As if I hadn't wanted to come home to them for years. As if this half hour meeting was anything but on their own limited terms.

I don't know why I keep setting myself up for heartbreak. I should have known my siblings wouldn't be there. I should have known visiting relatives would be sent away. The sole reason I was allowed to come was to see my sick dad. It wasn't an invitation to be part of their lives again. I knew that, but I couldn't help but let part of me wish it was more.

I feel a lot of things right now. I'm glad that our interaction was pleasant. I'm hurt that I couldn't see my brother and sister. I'm disappointed that this half hour will probably be the most time spent with them for another few years and that it was a totally superficial conversation.

I wish I could just purge them from my heart. I want to stop missing them and holding out hope that they'll take me back as I am. I'm not dangerous. I'm not hopeless. I'm not doomed. I want so much for them to wake up one day and realize that nothing is worth trading me for. Not even eternal life. Why can't I just accept that that is never going to happen?

1. It doesn't sound that bad. I've had way worse happen to me. You went to church every week and read the bible. I've had x,y and z. That's real trauma

Or

2. Says some offhand and now they're really concerned about my well being

Neither are great but in very different ways. Because 1. I'm trying to explain that it was a CULT not just a church. It was my entire life not just an hour on Sunday and 2. I'm trying to explain that I'm good with this particular thing. That's why I'm joking about it

This clip from Doctor Who played a big part in my life, I feel

I was always The Weird Kid. Maybe one too many head injuries (I had a penchant for bouncing my face off of things) or maybe growing up in a cult, maybe genes, idk. I was weird. I didn't fit in anywhere and I still kinda don't

But I am, despite my mum's best efforts and thanks to my dad's genetics, autistic and I fixate on the number 4. I have since I was a small child. I like things to be in multiples of 4. I don't know why. But my entire life, inside my head, constantly counting, 1234, 1234, 1234

And then add in the niche trauma of growing up in a cult. For years, for most of my life, it was normal. I was just The Weird Kid. That was my role. It was just me and everyone else was so very normal

But the years went on. And the trauma got worse. And the autism went untreated. And it started to hurt. It hurt so bad. But it wasn't real. Nothing but a symptom of my own insanity. Nothing I couldn't cover up and smile through

Until it wasn't. It hurt too much. It was destroying me

And then I met someone. Someone who is now a very good friend. One of my best friends. She was the first person I told the whole story to. And she listened. Like actually listened

She heard it. And at first, she looked at me the same way the Doctor looks at the Master. But I could only react the way the Master does. Whatever it may be bringing, it's real! It's real! It's not just me.

Bear in mind TEOT aired in 2010 (I was 13) and I met this friend in maybe 2018? (I was like 21). I watched it a lot (yay for vhs taping off the telly) but not enough for it to live rent free in my head the way other episodes I've watched far less have (see Turn Left, that one holds and lot of real estate and I've watched it maybe 3x). I didn't even really think about that episode until like last year after like 2015 (and even before that I was more in other things)

My point being, that episode, that 2 or 3 minutes, really encapsulated what it's like to feel validated. Even though it's horrible news for everyone in the Doctor Who universe, it's literally the end of time itself, it's the worst thing the Doctor could have found....

An incredibly traumatised man finds his incredibly (differently) traumatised peer and is validated. A man who had spent his whole life thinking he was insane has been proved sane, it was never his fault, he was always just a pawn in a greater game, the pain was caused by someone else

And I had that moment. She could hear it. It wasn't just inside my head. It was real. The beat of 4 that has punctuated every second of my life has counted my pain and my healing. And the relief. It's real. It's not just my own insanity. It's real

I hate you.

Sincerely,