Not a poem

I had a father for approximately 15 years…or at least I thought I did before the emotional abuse started and I found myself staring at this man whose paternal exterior had been stripped forever from my heart. It wasn’t until the worst of the pain had passed, until I had everything and then some shatter and fall out from under me…I realized that my supposed “Daddy” had never really been there for in the way that I needed him to as a father. Then of course there was the fight he and Mom had over the phone, my last summer at home at as a mere 18 year old and I heard, loud and clear over the phone, the sneering, “I’m not even sure that she is mine,” a triumphant ‘So there. Nyah nyah!” practically echoed!
And, the only positive leftover from this 7+ year experience/trauma is that I’m not left agonizing over the emotions that rattled me to my core 20 minutes ago. Care of Dr. Phil, yes I DO watch him every once in a while. A fight between a mother and a father, their two little girls and slinging insults and accusations across the stage faster than even Dr. Phil could keep up with for solving the custody battle. Less than 10 minutes left and this “man”, this “father” was only stalling the attempt to solve problems for the sake of his daughters. The tears formed and curse words erupted from my mouth as I watched this guest, unable to answer the questions put to him honestly, disown his children on air. Fucking live television! And he disowned them rather than putting aside his pride, his fear whatever else may have stood in the way of making life better for those two little girls!!
Not only did I cry for these two little girls, praying to any higher being out there listening that their mother find a man worthy of the love and care of these two babies, but of their mother’s love as well; just give them the possibility of having a tried and true father figure in their life and a happy, emotionally stable mother taking care of them. I cried for not only the abandonment I feel from as far back as I remember, but for the fact that every other person in my paternal “family” also rejected me. I prayed for those little girls, and I asked God that they not be left with this feeling of never having had a daddy when they reach my young, yet emotionally old and aged, age. I bawled for the emptiness they may potentially feel, from the present until an unforeseen time. I hoped that they would have more of a fatherly figure in their life before they suffered the sense of loss I’ve felt and the ways in which I have tried to fulfill this loss personally.
And then, then I cried because it is people like this who are able to have children that they choose CHOOSE to walk away from on international television that make me ache even more over my choice to not put my potential biological children at risk for a practically guaranteed risk of genetic/health problem that would cause worse pain than I myself handled medically thus far in my life. It hurts me to the core that I feel this choice to not have biological children is the only choice to make, but for those who are actually infertile, for those who may try all they want for a child free of genetic defects (my DNA would only give a 50% chance of getting my genetic problems even worse) have an even smaller chance, and if this dream were to come true would never DREAM of disowning their child. Disgust, disgust, disgust…I damn all deadbeat dads! ...if only I had that power, then again this is assuming my own is worth that use of such a power.


I KNOW it may seem like I'm the whiny spoiled brat because my mom's my world, the best, etc. (especially after my "dad" decided to 'duck out' after the divorce and my not accepting his pathetic/emotionally-abusive/asshole behaviour) but I can't help but feel she loads some of the "mommy business" onto me sometimes. And I HATE to think I resent her a bit sometimes, but the truth is...I do