I was 14 years old. It was the day before I started high school and they were yelling. Over the past few days, they had been yelling a lot. More than usual and it scared me. My dad is a loving man. Without a doubt, he is the most loving man I have ever known. I grew up with parents that needed each other too much to be truly loving. For to love, you must remind the other of their freedom. On the other hand, my parents loved me unconditionally and gave me wings. There is nothing I could do that would remove their love. I have known and felt that intrinsically since I can remember. But my dad disappoints me. That hits me hard, you know? It slaps me. As I type this, I want to sob. Not because our loved ones won't disappoint us, but because I spent most of my young life not being able to live with the disappointment I felt all those years ago. As an adult, I could not always love him the way he loved me. I couldn't make sense of it. If you love me, you would be a better person to yourself. As an adult and unbeknownst to me, I held myself to the same standard. I couldn't give two fucks about comparing myself to other people. I have rarely felt jealousy in my life. I don't feel a sense of competition. And that sometimes unhealthy reality has meant disappointment in myself and has been the punishment I bring upon myself. Because of it, I worry. I worry about my appearance, my words, my every step because I don't want to feel the weight of my own disappointment. Why they argued those few days before high school so long ago does not matter as much as the lesson from it. I will say, my dad has been clean for over 20 years. Those days were a major turning point in my life. I learned as I look back that my tendency towards worry was an attempt to stop my living so I wouldn't be like a man that ultimately wanted to be loved. It is the kind of love I deeply want for myself, from myself.