I’ve previously written a time or two, about my daddy issues, as they are a significant part of my healing journey. As luck might have it, a few weeks ago, I was looking through now, ancient computer files, glancing through old writing and came across a piece that brought back all of those daddy issues. 

In fact, that writing piece is what prompted me to start coming to terms with the aspects of my abandonment, that dominate many or all of the decisions I make today. In such, I wrote a very daring piece called, “Confessions: Abandonment, Rape & Repercussions.”

In doing so, I opened up an entirely new vault of understanding and peace, governing the hurt and pain I still struggle to let go of. I am far more prepared and dedicated to sharing and unwrapping the rest of the secrets, fears and personal lies that still threaten to hold me back. 

Demonstrative of this new peace and courage, I decided to dedicate my first every #OutspokenSundayPost to sharing the words that opened up the vault. Here is a journal piece, of sorts, written directly after my last time speaking to my father in 2008, before reuniting with him in late 2013. I’ll let the words speak for themselves.

A’se!


July 2008

I can’t suite grasp the way it is that I feel right now. The more significant emotion that I can readily identify is frustration. I have been through so fucking much and given so fucking little. This is not to deny credit to my blessings from the lord and many people around me. It’s more to allow room for comprehension of the comparison between all that I can now say I should have been given and what I actually received. I’m just extremely baffled at the reaction I received.

Like are you fucking kidding me? Seriously? This man has been almost fucking completely MIA for eighteen gotdamned years and I ask him for one fucking thing and he seriously can’t even do that. He never bought me a single fucking pamper, never one pair of sneakers, never attended one show or event and I ask for one thing and he can’t come through.

The major thing is that it really isn’t about the money; so far from it in fact. That $100 won’t replace all of those years he missed. It won’t replace the deep resentment in my heart. It won’t mask my sadness and deep feelings of incompetence. Gosh we were on the phone for maybe five minutes and that hurt his feelings. That was the damn PG version.

He has no idea how much I believe he ruined my life. No idea how much he attributed to my extensive levels of emotional abandonment issues. I was just saying I was frustrated. I didn’t tell him all the stupid ass mistakes I’ve made with guys because of my consistent desire to be loved by a man. Ugh. Just admitting that out loud makes me want to seriously gag. It sounds so fucking cliché and full of complete bullshit.

There’s no room in life for excuses for the mistakes we make. So to attribute my romantic problems with men to my father disgusts me and saddens me at the same time. It’s disgusting because like I said there’s no room for mistakes and too bad I got stuck a rough hand, it doesn’t make much sense to use that as a reason to continue to screw up.

This explains why it saddens me because as much as I am aware of this and even able to say it to my sperm donor it won’t stop me from continuing to make mistakes. Not at all. I will still search for love in all the wrong places and going by my luck, I will still fall sadly and steeply short.

It’s been real and tough. Deuces!

Shaquana

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