Hey, I’m just warning you. This post might be a little heavy but I think its about time I share my thoughts and feelings surrounding this. Thanks to Vix Meldrew I only just realised why I am, the way I am. I’ve always known I’ve had daddy issues, but I’ve never related my actions to that feeling. You see, a little fact about me, I didn’t know my sperm donor (that is what we will refer to him as) until I was nearly 14. After an unsuccessful kidnapping attempt of me whilst my mum had a procedure in hospital, that was the last time he would ever see me till my teen years.
He bought me a pair of shoes. He took me to Drayton Manor. I met my unknown family. Then as quickly as that happened, he was out of my life again. “He couldn’t be my father.” It was as simple as that. Because he could be father as he spawned 2 more children not many years later. It was that he couldn’t be my father. And whilst, that’s okay because I have the most truly lovely step-father who is my dad, it felt like someone had literally stamped on my chest to the point where I could only just gasp for one last breath.
The tears fell. They sometimes still do. Being abandoned once might not hurt too much, but to have it happen twice clearly took it’s toll on me. I know this, as I write, I can feel those big lumps appearing my mouth and I’m really trying to hold back tears. Stupid really. Why should I feel like this about someone who just cannot be bothered? I have no feelings towards this person, I know I don’t. It’s the feeling of being let down, left, abandoned and ultimately the worry that it was me that made them go away.
My mum is a boss. At 18 she raised me. Without his help. I will forever be indebted to her. She played me the song “Cold Little Heart” the other day, and I pretended I didn’t like it. Well, I didn’t like it, because it made me feel things. Deep rooted things that I didn’t want to feel in front of her. As I started writing this, the song came on. I cried. Stupidly. But it’s something I allow myself to do when I feel weak.
Did you ever notice
I’ve been ashamed
All my life
I have been ashamed, ashamed all my life that I drove someone away, that I wasn’t good enough. I get told off daily for saying sorry too many times. What am I apologising for, is it for my pure existence? For everything I do? Is everything that I do one big massive fuck up. It might not be, but I feel that way.
Maybe this time I can be strong
But since I know who I am
I’m probably wrong
I really do try to be strong. But after a long winded chat with a blogging friend, it was then that I realised that whilst I thought I had been trying to be strong, but underneath the smiles and laughs I wasn’t because I’d been denying myself of trying to address it all in my mind.
And I know
In my heart, in this cold heart
I can live or I can die
I believe if I just try
I’m a cold hearted bitch. I’m cynical. I’m a half empty kinda gal. I’m everything I don’t want to be. Behind closed doors, “this is me now.” Except it isn’t “me now,” it’s someone I’ve always been and only now that I can accept the way I am that I believe I can try work on by living and enjoying my life, but not in a half-heartedly way. Worrying about the ifs & buts. The times I shrug at friend or families babies photos, because “I don’t care” (and don’t want to allow myself to care.) The times I sit on Twitter and Instagram to find love and attention from more and more people because I feel like I’ve been denied it, al the while my lovely husband is sat next to me wanting to talk. The times I shut down and haven’t asked about family or friends health because I’m so scared of losing that too.
I’ve realised I’ve been mourning something that although not dead, is really dead for me. And probably him, too. Although, I guess I’ll never know that. But it’s time to start thinking about me and not about him. Because I’m letting myself lose a grip of all the things that do matter in my life as well. I’ve made myself an island by doing this all my life. It’s time to work on that and maybe start taking the necessary steps to understand myself more and why I am the way I am.
I’m 27 now and I’ve put off so long writing this, because I don’t want to upset my family and also because I don’t want it to look like a pity party. But by denying myself the chance to talk about it out loud is hurting myself more and more each day. So please, if you are reading this, know I love you all so dearly.
I’m sorry if I forget to ask about how your step-dad is doing, or I can’t make events because I’m tired and have so much going on, that I say the wrong thing from time to time. All I ask is that you bear with me.
I’m a work in progress.
And for anyone else who feels this pain, this is for you too. My pain, is yours. Your pain, is mine.
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