Father’s Day died a long time ago for me. How can you celebrate someone that’s physically abusive and says horrible things to you?
I see all these great fathers and wish one of them were mine. I want something that I don’t and will never have. So Father’s Day is dead. -RealityOfAPreachersDaughter
Everyone has had a broken heart, I guess. It’s just worse when it’s the person you call father. The news I’ve been hearing lately about him has me very concerned (more like driving me nuts). I’ve tried time after time year after year, and he just makes . It’s like he just doesn’t care about his life anymore. There is nothing I could say to him because he would never listen anyway. So maybe, JUST MAYBE, when I finish this book, he will still have time to bounce back and turn his life completely around. Maybe I can save the father who could care less about me. #Prayforme
I will be successful! I am determined to be everything I was created to be, but God Help me. Only God can help me.
Today my mother went back to Texas and it doesn’t make me happy at all to know she’s going back there to be by herself. Her being here felt like she never left. It felt like this was how it’s suppose to be, now she’s boarding her plane at CLT.
Sometimes I just don’t get life. I can’t communicate with my father without him hollering at me for how bad of a daughter I am and my mother is in Texas.
The father figure I have doesn’t even know I look at him this way. I talk to him when I can, but he no longer lives close. I can’t get why everyone moves away from me. Other than my husband and my Pepe’, I feel alone. Sometimes I just want to have a parent around at least one.
I’ve been crying for days. I wish he would just listen… It will never happen.
I’ve been messed up for years, but no one would really know. Covered it up quite good. I just wanted to have a relationship with my father that I never got. Since I was a little girl it was all about being tough, not being his little princess. I just wanted my daddy. The one who would hold my hand at the park, or tell me how proud he was of me. Tell me how beautiful I was, kiss my forehead and pray with me at bedtime. I cried a lot. I cried myself to sleep a lot. No one knew. I had to be the strong one for my siblings, for my mom. I had to be strong in front of my dad because when he saw a weakness he would irritate it, nag at it, scratch at it, until I fought back. It always ended badly.
As I grew up, I had to put on an armor. Changed my outward to look harder than I actually was. People who knew me when I was younger know how I use to dress. I was a tomboy. Boys clothes, worked out everyday, push ups, sit ups, running, boxing in the mirror. It kept the pain at ease and I had to make sure I was strong enough to fight my dad back.
I watched how he treated my brothers. One was the Favorite, the other was not. My mother and I would try to take up for him, but Dad was too overpowering. He never listened. It was always “his way”. His way was horrible. I prayed all the time that this would end. EVERYTHING WOULD END. It didn’t. It just got worse…