Bipolar Life- The Journal, #12

It’s nearing Father’s Day again. Every year feels the same. My mind begins to wonder, I feel a sense of longing. I never knew my dad. I am not even sure he ever knew about me. Those in charge thought it best. Maybe it was. We will never know.

Still, you never feel complete. There was no real fill-in for me. The monster who should have been a stepdad hated me, abused me, and threatened me. I was left watching other girls have daddy’s they trusted, who loved them, and truly adored their princess.

Here I sit. I’ve never been a princess. I was never held as I cried, or offered wise words of wisdom. Those sort of words that stay with you forever, “My daddy always said…”

I look in the mirror and imagine I look like someone out there. I may be the spitting image of another human being. But I will never know. I have no pictures, no videos, no anything to solve my internal mystery.

My heart has ached about this my entire life, especially the times I was disgustingly abused. Some days I cry alone as I consider the loss. Some days the anger echoes from the depths of my being. Very few people know about the pain. It seems no one really cared before, why would they now.

I look at my life and see a pattern of choices that reflect a little girl in need. I am textbook really. Always looking for that daddy in every man. I feel guilty about that, now that I know. Many of the issues in any relationship were often not the fault of anyone but me. I carried the lost and searching little girl with me for as long as I can remember. And when the men failed to be that to me, I became a mad young lady and woman.

I wish things had been different. If the man who contributed half my DNA was going to be a worthless jerk, at least I would have known what he looked like. I would have seen for myself. If he wouldn’t have loved me, so be it. My life would probably be similar, with a different set of problems.

Maybe he would have taken one look at his daughter and fell in love. Maybe I would have been special enough to matter, to change for. Maybe for once I would have been safe and secure.

Be thankful for your father. If you know him, and he was terrible, be thankful you know what he looks like. I don’t know if I will ever ‘get over it’, if I haven’t by now, probably not. I believe in heaven, and I can only pray he made beautiful changes to his life. One day, maybe I will see him there.

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