Processing Moves To Healing

I have pulled up my website to write several times in the last week but I had to stop myself. It is hard to write and process the fact that no matter how hard you try nothing ever changes. I was willing to look past the hate of the man that raised me. I was willing to put it aside because in his sickness, I wanted to be by his side. I truly though if I reached out it would warm his cold soul a little bit.

What I learned is that what I felt in the bottom of my soul, my entire life, was that I was never truly apart of the family. Knowing how sick you are, knowing how badly you have taken care of yourself, I know that when the time comes, I will not be welcome there. I would never be able to say goodbye because your people wouldn’t let it happen.

Not that I want to be around the people you call family, ever. The family that is okay with hiding everything and never allowing for justice of healing. My heart hurts all the time. You were my dad. You came into my life when I was three years old. You are the only person that I ever called dad. I was a daddy’s girl and you loved that. You would put roses in my curls when I was young and I followed you around everywhere.

To learn that I really never matter has been devastating. As much as I could blame all of this on last year there has been so many other things over the years that have attributed. Your family treated me like Cinderella my whole life. I never went on the trips with them or was included when it counted. Yet you had no problem leaving me with them when you couldn’t handle us kids. The hell I went through at nine years old in that house, if you really knew you would pull your hair out.

How can you ignore my call? I reached out. I asked to put things aside so we could see each other. I didn’t want to leave things bad. I wanted to drive to you and take care of you and see the man I called dad most of my life. Yet you refuse to even acknowledge I tried. You have manipulated so many people with lies about me yet I tried to be the bigger person.

The funny thing is, I know you will see this. Hell you will probably comment nasty things on this. There were so many that I didn’t let go through before. Every time I write you stalk me, yet you can’t take my call like an adult. You were obviously never meant to be my dad. I was never meant to have a dad. Thank you for turning your back on my always and never caring for my heart or feelings.

I wish we could come together. I wish things could be different. Knowing I may never see you again is painful no matter how much pain you have cause. Funny isn’t it, how the abused always run back to the abuser, even if it is there own dad? If counseling taught me anything it is that I need to move forward. All the Hell you caused has given me PTSD, and I will never write about you or this again after this because I am done.

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