Is it time? in Journal

To move on? Yeah, I think it is.
I’m not getting anywhere, and it’s all so boring, now. I have the feeling that I have grown past her. I have reached a point of maturity that she never did. I am looking back at her from a long way down the path; and she looks very small indeed.
The unidealized parent is someone, it seems, that has accrued an impossible amount of shit to make up for.
I haven’t examined the ways in which I idealized my dad. I don’t actually have many positive opinions of him. I remember good experiences in the same way I remember the quadratic equation; abstractly.
In fact, the strongest emotion that I can recall feeling in relation to my father is curiosity. And I was not particularly curious about my dad. I was intensely curious about the absence of feeling for my dad.
I remember sitting in bed, and experiencing the horrific loss and terror at the thought of my mom leaving and never coming back. The intensity of the feeling was palpable. I could hardly contain it. In the next moment, I practiced the same thought experiment about my dad. And… nothing. It was as if, in my emotional life, he didn’t exist at all.
And… in real life it was as if I didn’t exist to him, either. Not on an emotional level.

I think there isn’t really any more perfect illustration than the recent moment that he walked right past me without a glance, not even the briefest of acknowledgements, to spend the next few minutes talking to my son. Even when I walked over and said ‘hello dad, how are you?’ did I get so much as a pause or a moment. It was like I just didn’t exist at all.

In short, it is difficult for me to unearth any of those strong emotions for my dad from under so much blatant indifference.
I know that I must hate him. I know that I have strong avoidance tendency towards him. I am loathe to spend time with him one-on-one. And that might be just because, he is loathe to spend any time with me. Even in the most recent years, if I went over there, he would make some excuse to leave within 20 minutes or less.
Last year, I tried to ask him about his experiences and he didn’t even finish a sentence before leaving the kitchen and not returning for the entire visit.
Not even a single sentence.
It was like he began a thought- then dropped it and ran away. Never to be seen again.

Part of me is deeply saddened by that. The part of me that was curious about him, will never be fulfilled. Mostly though, I am just indifferent. I don’t imagine that he has much of an emotional life at all. I doubt that he suffers from such things as guilt, or remorse, loneliness, or any of those things.
Emotions, to my dad, are only brought out to get what he wants. Otherwise they’re locked away and vented to small children in the form of horrific verbal and physical abuse.