Definition: Open to attack
Synonyms: Defenseless, Exposed, Naked, Unguarded, Unprotected, Wide Open, Out On A Limb
Antonyms: Closed, Guarded
I've rarely felt the surge of emotions that ran through me when my father died. I was numb and angry all at the same time. I had a lot to get out on the subject but no one I really felt I could talk to about it. It was a very vulnerable time and I hated it. I felt like every time someone looked at me, they knew what I was going through and that I was so conflicted inside. I think it was so difficult to accept that he was dead because so much was still unresolved. You go through life assuming there's always tomorrow to get things off your chest and connect with people you've been meaning to talk to. I'd considered contacting my father a handful of times in my teens and early twenties. There was no reason I couldn't, other than my own reservations about opening that door and letting him into my life. I remember running scenarios through my head about what he'd say when I called him and told him I was his son. Some were good; that he'd be happy I'd found him and welcome me with open arms. Others were not so good, I worried he would reject me and there are few things worse than rejection. Especially rejection from someone whose blood runs through your veins, someone who is supposed to love you and have your back through all of life's ups and downs. The possibility of that second scenario was suffocating to me so every time I came close to using the phone number I believed was his, I stopped myself and threw it into a drawer and forgot about it. Then he died and there were no more tomorrows and I was thrown as to what happens next.
After my father's death I went into apathy mode for about a week, burying my anger about the entire situation. I took to Facebook and started looking for my half-siblings and my father's widow. Something in me needed to understand what had just happened and what made this person I was related to but only met once tick. Maybe I thought I'd find answers or clues to why he wasn't around. But I didn't, of course. His widow posted almost daily updates about how much she missed him and what a good man he was and all of her friends and step-children would offer her solace and express their own grief. I didn't know how to take it. All of these people were talking about what a wonderful father he was and that pissed me off. Why was he around for them and not for us? While we were on welfare and being raised by a single mother, he was out doing his thing as a musician but apparently he had enough time to at least check in with all of his other kids. I stopped reading all the glowing things people had to say about him and just silently fumed for quite some time. But the thing about quietly fuming (as I'm prone to doing) is that eventually that anger comes bubbling to the surface and it's worse than it would have been had you just dealt with it when you felt it. My reaction once the anger took over was to just wash my hands of the entire situation. I stopped caring about the people in his life because I was bitter that I wasn't one of them. It's only recently that I've come to realize I'm better for not having him in my life. I can't really mourn someone I never cared about. And yet, for some reason, writing about him is still difficult for me and takes me back to the vulnerability I felt in the aftermath of his death.
Nobody likes feeling vulnerable or knowing someone can get to them in a way no one else can. Even if someone gets to you in a good way, it's still sometimes easier to go the closed and guarded route. Because if there is no vulnerability then there can be no pain. For the first time in a long time, I've let myself linger in a vulnerable place. And it's been oddly liberating to say what I feel when I feel it (in a different way than I normally do with my lack of a filter). I'm lingering somewhere between unguarded and exposed but not yet wide open. And it's scary. VERY scary. But I'm trying very hard to stay away from the familiar confines of closed and guarded. I feel happy. And I feel very alive. Obviously those are good things. But another part of me rebels against those feelings and tries to force me to shut down because that's what I know and it's familiar and comfortable. And because giving in to vulnerability makes it easier to get hurt. Sometimes I'd rather feel any other emotion than this one. Other times it feels amazing to give into it. It's one of those epic battles between good and evil, except I'm still undecided as to which side is which.
