Dear Daniel,

Dear Daniel,

I’m hoping I’ve recovered somewhat from yesterday. Confrontations like that take it out of me and my long form writing suffers because of it. I got maybe two pages done on WARRIOR done because of it.
I wish I could say my emotions don’t inhibit my work. But when I’m that angry or hurt they block me and when I’m ready to write again, I’m usually drained by the fight. Oh they let me use the car last night to go to the bookstore. I spent the whole time talking to a friend on Facebook and just unloading a lot of stuff.
I don’t mean to come off so negative sometimes. My family is just so screwed up. Don’t get me wrong, I love them and all, but when the chips are down I should know better than to approach them with anything beyond the simple light lifting they desire.

I think they have a fundamental misunderstanding of who I am and a lack of ability to understand the adult I’ve become is a result of a lot of choices I was forced to make as a child and ones I chose to make as an adult.

One of those things I’ve always said is that I don’t want kids. Even as a kid. But as a kid I was raising and protecting to some degree my two younger siblings. Ever since I can remember Brandy was in need of some kind of shield and at the time I was willing to take it up for her. In all honesty I think it was probably that sort of thinking that helped me survive the abuse at Jerry’s on the weekends when he, his brother, or one of his guests would prey on me.

But I’m tired of protecting others to my own detriment. Is that wrong? I mean I’m extremely loyal to my friends. Pam, Missy, Elise, Carla. I’m making new friends and professional contacts who treat me better than my own family does. The small press has kind of embraced me and I like it. It makes feel like I’m loved and appreciated. I wonder, am I so broken that professional friendships have to take the place of the blood bonds and those who say they love me more than anyone simply because of that fact.

How broken am I that I still want validation from my biological father who doesn’t know me, abused me, and will never quite know how much he’s damaged me? I wrote him a letter once telling him I hated things that he did to me and didn’t do for me. As a practicing alcoholic who smokes Jerry is also a Vietnam Vet. His mother was a cold woman. She once wrote my name on the picture of the fattest woman in a photograph and left it for me to find. His dad was married 17 times—that he can remember. He also thought it was okay to strike a woman down. The only thing I remember about him is that he was a drinker too and that he was sick most of the time I knew him with Cancer. And he had dog that bit. His teeth went through and through. Of course, in the dog’s defense he was chained to the trailer.

That’s Jerry’s side of the family. He also had two brothers, one who abused me, and a sister whom we often went camping with. I think Jerry is the black sheep. But it’s not like all of the McCorkles are worthless. He had an uncle named Houston and he had two sons Doug and Leemont. Who now goes by Lee.
The only reason I know about Lee is because last year I at my launch for the Gladiator Chronicles Lee sought me out. He had his son Miller with him. We talked about Star Trek and how he and his brother used to travel the scifi con circuit together. I had a giveaway tote full of books from MuseItUp authors and Miller won the giveaway. And Lee bought my book.

Today has been a nice day, but again my parents haven’t been here. I worry that one day even though I love them and they love me I will have to cut ties with them when they do stupid shit like they did yesterday. I certainly hope not. I love them very much. And want desperately to do right by them. They just make is so damn hard sometimes.

Sincerely,

Amy McCorkle