Thinking at Delaney's Cafe

I'm sitting in Delaney's cafe hoping to finally fine some peace of mind in order to write about my past month.

My dad has been away for a month now - he returns the day after tomorrow and this event will dramatically change the current flow in my life.

If I haven't already written about this, here I go...

I love my dad, I really do. He has done only the best of the best for me as his child. He has given me opportunities and gifts that most teenage female immigrants can only dream of (or see in Hollywood flicks). My list of gratitude towards him can go on for days...

But that is not my point.

He has been, in my opinion, blessed to have raised an adolescent daughter like me.

I never rebelled as a kid, never dwelled on the drinking and partying scene, never broke major rules, worked exceptionally hard in school, achieved commendable well-roundedness as a student (arts, athletics, academics, and community service), and excelled as a college applicant (got into renowned universities, 2 Ivy League institutions, attended Cornell on a scholarship).

But one day in August 2009, my dad (and mom) received a call from the health center at Cornell about the health status of their first born and only daughter. This call changed their lives forever.

I came home as a very sick young woman. Barely weighing 86 lbs on a 5'5" frame, bones jutting out at all angles, and at a fragile state of life... I was their broken doll.

Since my return and commencement of treatment, I can now see that my dad was practically beating himself to a pulp for blaming my life-threatening illness on himself. Several months ago, I thought he just couldn't leave me alone and was angry with me, angry at life... but it was all just a waterfall of emotions stemming from not understanding the situation at hand. He just wanted answers but had absolutely nowhere to turn.

Yet my dad has always had some problems of his own. As does any human being. His "aura" every day in our West Vancouver home is undeniably a negative burden on the rest of the us living under his roof. My brother and I have always been trapped by my dad. As kids, it was a cage defined by a fear of him and his voice. As I got older, the cage has only thickened because I never took the initiative to talk to him. (Why I never did...I will never know). I wasn't raised as a touchy-feeling, emotionally open, "I love you", express-your-feelings-and-hug-it-out kind of kid. But that is definitely not what caused my illness. Many families hold this dynamic but host healthy and happy individuals. But for me, this was a large part of my downfall and conflict with my dad.

Every day during my intensive recovery/treatment was part hell. Not only did I expend all of my energy on fighting my disorder, trying to banish it from my life and daily regime, but the negative environment I seemed to be caged in in my own home was nothing short of torture for me. I always prayed my dad would vacate my life and space so I could breathe some fresh air without him breathing down my back.

Layla called anorexia the "rebellion disorder" - She related my feelings and situation to what Suzie Orbach wrote about Princess Diana's identical illness (Orbach was Diana's therapist for anorexia). Poised during years in my adolescence when rebellion and defiance are natural and necessary, I (like Diana) finally burst out of a brittle shell and chose a destructive way to rebel. At least out bodies were under out own control. 

Now, with my dad returning, the re-balance of optimism and positive energy I have thus built up with my mom at home will be disturbed. Perhaps not broken, but it will definitely be altered.

My hope is that my progress in health and psychological control will prove to support the return of my dad and whatever new challenges that it may bring. I also pray my dad took his time away to reevaluate his thoughts and returns with high hopes and renewed spirit. 

My dad is like a giant child. His mind works in a mysterious way that even my mom (after almost 30 years of marriage) does not understand. I keep trying to manipulate it and bend it to my liking, but that is clearly not a solution. I need to learn to focus my goals and align it with his. What makes this slightly easier is the our end goals are the same, for me to return to full health and vivacious love of life. He always looks very far into the future and often fails to observe the events occurring in the present. All I want is for him to see the present situation and be able to evaluate that to his liking (or not). Then to tell me what he is thinking. Because my dad has an incredibly difficult time telling others about his feelings. He doesn't tell my mom, he doesn't tell his children, he locks it in his own soul and drowns in it. I don't want him to suffer, but I understand now that this is not something that I can change at my own will. I will be me. He will be him.

But the hope in my perseveres. When he returns, I can picture a new path in our lives being paved. I see it being a step up from where we left off. I can only hope.