Life

Billie Holiday

Technically Father’s Day was yesterday and I woke up with the memory of buying my dad a gray tie to wear once for Father’s Day Sunday service and him promising to us (my mom and me) that he was coming home and was going to attend. I was probably 9 or 10.

He didn’t.

Or that one time I was in private school and it was 1st grade and they had a Father’s Day dance and carnival and my dad saying he was gonna come home and go.

He didn’t. I just remember crying and my mom telling me that it was okay and just trying to make me feel better and her putting on the radio and dancing with me and telling me that I could dance with her too.

I know my parents loved me, and each other but I will never understand why my mom stayed with my dad.

Crazy to say but as much as I loved him, and as well as he treated me and as much as him and I are alike, his death didn’t move me as much as it should’ve? He wasn’t around much because of his job but mostly because of drugs. Me seeing a psychiatrist after his death was most likely me coming to terms with all the shit I grew up with.

My failing relationship with my mother mostly.

God.

It used to be so bad, we would actually get into fights like with our hands and fists. I always said my mother didn’t hit me, because growing up she didn’t, like when I was a kid, but as soon as I turned 13 and my father passed away, we weren’t strangers to screaming fights and scratch marks, the occasional slaps-her to me and me just lying on the floor trying to contemplate my life after all that. Honestly wanting to join him because I couldn’t live like this anymore, thinking he at least got away from my mother.

I bruise easily so you can imagine trying to wear long sleeves in the summer or having people think you’re a clutz because your excuse was exactly that Β πŸ€·πŸ»β€β™€οΈ

I never had a good relationship with my mother, not until senior year of high school and it’s definitely been improving. Now when I cry, she holds me and sometimes gives sound advice, but it wasn’t up until my breakup with manny the second time that I demanded her to hold me and that’s something she’s never done. In all my 21 years of life. My brother? Holds me all the time when I cry, my hand, me, gets me Ice cream, my bear, just does the works but mom? Nah.

So she saw my scars on my knees and arms, burnt marks and decided that “my fathers death was too much for me to handle” and took me to a psychiatrist. No. It’s YOU woman. I got a puppy out of it and after years of counseling I just let it be. Also started reading heavily that summer too, realized that the stories in thoseΒ books were far better than my life and for hours I could just get lost in those worlds. Now I read for fun but I do extremely thank my relationship with my mother for my love of literature.

I mean, my dad always defended me, so did my grandma and grandpa and basically everyone who knew how my mom treated me so yeah I guess I was sad that my dad died because now-then, I was literally defenseless against my mom.

Over time I got used to his lies, well not so much used to but I just didn’t get my hopes up to see him when he’d say he’d come around. I still did, but it didn’t kill me as much.

maybe that’s why I hate it when people lie to me now, like I absolutely am not a forgiving person when it comes to lying Β and maybe that’s why I give manny too many chances because like my dad, he too lies to me a lot and I get my hopes up and think it’ll be different. Hopefully. If this time it isn’t I’m moving on. I don’t want to be like my mom, she now acknowledges that she should’ve left my dad sooner.

But yeah.

I never once blamed myself for my dads lack of family involvement or drug usage. I always blamed it on his upbringing and my mom because she TO me used to be the worst person ever

I knew I was always the most wonderful child any parent could ask for because in reality I was, I kept to myself, stayed quiet, school was cake and I had friends and generally a good kid.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dad. I was his little girl and princess and favorite (I know I would’ve been HIS favorite even if he were to be alive right now) but he wasn’t around as much when I was younger for me to be all that affected by his death when he died. I miss him, he introduced me to a lot of cool shit, and he was really funny and smart and the only person who I could cuddle to and no matter what, I was his little girl and was always proud of me. He was probably THE funniest man ever honestly, he was a good man and a great dad when he was around. I truly wish he would’ve gotten better and straighten out to see what our lives would’ve been like with him in the picture.

Goddamn it, this is why I Β SUCK AT SHOWING AFFECTION, any affection and why I suck at many other things.

 

(except my baby brother, I literally melted when I first held him and made a promise to always hug him and tell him I loved him and all the dogs because I was given one at literally my lowest point in life. I can safely say that cookie was the light at the end of my tunnel and why I will never get over his death)

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